


Quiet

by Noel_Radcliff



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Family, Female Reader, Filipino reader, Friendship, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2019-11-16 02:18:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18085517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noel_Radcliff/pseuds/Noel_Radcliff
Summary: "Why is that your call sign, when you are so obviously not?"You were an idealist, a dreamer, a student of the Liberal Arts. When the Omnic Crisis devastated your country, you enlisted in the army to prove your worth. A series of events, however, landed you in Overwatch.But who said that is a good thing?





	1. The World As You Knew It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look back on your life before donning the black and red uniform.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Sensoo's "In Alio Loco" and hostilewitness's "Jack Fucking Morrison". I cannot know how the hell, for the life of me, you tag two works in the Associations tab. I didn't want to tag just one work because reasons. If there's anyone out there who knows how, please tell me.
> 
> This was a very weird piece to me. Probably because I’ve been reading too many Overwatch x Reader stories. I wanted to make a story that has some Filipino elements to it, mainly because I am Filipino and it is in our blood to show off, and the other part was that I would really like it if Overwatch introduced a Filipino character, so this inspired me to make it.
> 
> Funnily enough, this was supposed to be a one-shot.
> 
> Edit: Figured out what's wrong with the format. I don't know what happened, but the end notes for this chapter only kept appearing at the end of each latest chapter. Hopefully this fixes it.
> 
> Enjoy!

The first time you’ve heard of Overwatch, you were at your squad’s shit van; listening to the radio.

It had been another day of warfare for you. You were part of a lesser known mercenary outfit stationed in the Philippines. There was a small skirmish happening a few miles away from your base of operations, some civilian punks thinking it would be funny to harass the neighboring village with spray cans and racial slurs.

You and your crew managed to round them up and hand them over to the _barangay_. You were about to pack it up when they spotted you lifting your heavy rifle that’s at least twice the size of your form. “Oy pipsqueak! Say you ditch your guys and have some fun with us, huh?” One of them shouted, a kid that’s years younger than you. You rolled your eyes when they laughed at your silence.

You don’t understand why they keep picking on you. Sure, you’re the only girl in your squad, a small one too; barely at five feet but enough to sneak past into military requirements. You were also very, very _quiet_. You didn’t suffer any emotional nor physical trauma, you weren’t mute; you just didn’t feel the need to talk much.

Talking hurts your mouth, talking takes up so much energy and time.

People picked on you a lot because of it, but there’s also a reason why your code name is _Quiet_.

One of your guys looked at you and back at the group, a worried frown etched on his face. You shook your head and nudged it towards the van. He merely gave up and walked back to your squad. He knows it's going to end up bloody.

Your dark colored eyes briefly flitted towards the group before you. You counted five, and frankly that’s enough. “What’s up babe? Wanna come with us?” One of them stepped up, a slightly handsome young man with a mess of black hair atop his youthful face.

You feel so sorry for him; he seemed responsible enough. “Come on, let’s go--AARGH!”

You grabbed his outstretched arm and twisted it a hundred and eighty degrees. It was easy; you’re strong, and his arm felt like butter. “ _Puta!_ ” The younger one from earlier cursed and ran forward, but your boot kicked his stomach and threw the guy’s body at his direction. They crashed against the wall of the alley while another grabbed your shoulder.

You ducked below and swiftly punched their crotch area. “ _Putangina!_ ” The guy sputtered as he dropped to the ground, holding onto whatever he had left as you took this time to punch him squarely in the face.

He dropped to the ground and groaned. You sat on his chest as you hit him again and again, breaking his nose and busting his eyes until your knuckle gloves were a bloody mess. The other two had stopped laughing; their faces mixed with horror and exasperation as you finished and slowly made way towards them. They turned tail and ran, shouting obscenities behind their backs.

You didn’t bother running after them; they will come to you with more men and you would happily oblige. You turned back to your crew, stepping over the unconscious thugs. “You done?” Your leader, a middle-aged man with a cigarette tucked in between his yellow teeth, looked at you disapprovingly from the van while you shrugged.

“They were annoying me.”

Captain David Santos spat out some chewed up leaves from his mouth to the ground before you, gave you another once over, and lazily waved a hand to the van. “Get in, _barangay_ captain’s already here.” He said as you opened the van door and squeezed in between your squad mates.

They were currently busy, talking about your earlier exploit, “I told you she wouldn’t chase after them.” The one beside you closest to the door said, a smirk hidden beneath his balaclava. He was Paul Balao, sniper specialist, piece of shit, and your best friend.

The one sitting in the front seat scoffed, his curly hair framing his head like a muffin-top. “You didn’t say that, I did!” He said hotly. He was Andre Sebastian, the tallest man you’d ever seen armed only with a side pistol and a first aid kit at his back.

You only smiled when Captain Santos shut them up with a loud curse, similar to what the young punks were screaming earlier. He was the oldest in your merry group of mercenaries; a man well over his fifties and someone refusing to retire from the battlefield. All of you served under him officially a few years ago in the Philippine Army.

The Omnic crisis and the politics, however, forced him to resign and become a vigilante. Not out of any injury or cowardice; he couldn’t stand how the army was handling the crisis. A civil war broke out and there was no order from the higher ups to stop it. “The Omnics were waging war over our streets and our politicians were too busy pointing fingers and getting sent to hospitals on their wheelchairs. I’d be insane to stay here.” You heard him berate as you followed him out of the compound.

He mentioned his eventual desertion to your squad, and out of the twenty something soldiers of Squad _Agila_ , only three people joined him. Thirty year old Sebastian who recently had a kid, Balao who graduated of honors and had enough credits to get him a PhD, and you.

The dreamer who thought all wars will come to an end. The writer who gave up the pen to pick up a gun. The rookie who never gave up despite your weaknesses. “So, where to next, _kapitan_?” Sebastian asked.

“We’ll empty our safe house then cross over to Manila.” Captain Santos replied.

Balao had given you a cloth to wipe your gloves off. After your anger had subsided, he felt it’s the right time to ask you a question. “What were you thinking when you were beating them up?” He didn’t have a disapproving tone, unlike your CO.

He was curious, is all. “They reminded me of the old days.” You replied when he rolled his eyes. It was true; you did get picked on a lot while in the army.

The radio was on and you listened half-heartedly. The civil war was ending, but you were mildly curious on how they kept praising this United Nations group for their help in ending it. “Overwatch, huh?” You ran the word over you tongue, savoring the foreign word like food.

* * *

The next time you’ve seen or heard of Overwatch, it was over the sleeve of its very own agents; bearing the insignia of the famous organization.

You held Balao’s hand, the light in his eyes have faded after your failed attempts of CPR. You tried to stop, but adrenaline and misery refused to leave you alone.

Basically, your crew fucked up. Lack of intel and tension forming around the walls of Intramuros had launched you and your crew into a bloody ambush. There was no distinction between friend or foe anymore; Omnic or not, everyone tried to shoot at you. You were separated from Captain Santos and Sebastian, and while you and Balao skirted the walls in an attempt to find them and avoid enemy fire, there was a loud ringing sound, and the street burst into rubble and dust, as shrapnel rained and white-hot temperatures flared and burned your measly military armor.

You were thrown back a good fifteen feet away from your location, crashing into a dumpster. It was probably the reason why you survived the shrapnel, but that doesn't matter. Why wasn’t Balao with you there? “No...” You managed to crawl out of the dumpster, your ears were still ringing from _that sound_.

His body was beside the alley. You don’t understand why he was there, he should’ve been there beside you. “No…” You ran over and did the first aid procedure Sebastian drilled into your head.

 _“Check their wounds.”_ Everything from the waist down was blown off.

 _“Stop the bleeding.”_ Your hands shakily fumbled over your jacket as you pressed it over his stomach. It quickly stained red.

 _“If the patient isn’t breathing, begin CPR.”_ You gripped onto your knuckles over his chest, pumping hard and fast in thirty, steady beats. Not once did you see him breathe.

You continued to do CPR until your shoulders ached. Hell, everything is hurting. Adrenaline was keeping you from feeling the burns all over you, the occasional shrapnel buried itself deep into your legs as you pumped and breathed into his motionless body.

 _They_ found you like that. A group of people wearing different uniforms of black and red, you couldn’t care less who’s who at this point. “He’s dead.” A rough voice akin to Captain Santos said, and you turned around to see a man wearing a beanie and a large frown, staring back at you and the body.

When you didn’t answer, he tilted his head back, facing the group. “We have a civilian here. Get her to a medic at once.”

At the word ‘civilian’, everything came rushing back. _Balao, the explosion, the van, Balao, the starless night, the heavy drinking, Balao, the shrapnel, the sound--_

You visibly snapped, as if somebody actually held you and set your neck straight. “I’m not a civie.” You suddenly said, in perfect English, as you rose to your feet. The man in the beanie looked back at you, his eyebrow raised as you brandished your rifle into the group’s full view.

They tensed, and the man in the beanie brandished his own weapons; dual shotguns. Huh, the army nor Captain Santos would never let you wield those. “I’m not your enemy either.”

“Got any other ideas that’ll change my mind about that?” He threatened. He was certainly built and didn’t look like any other soldier you’ve seen before. Hell, that uniform was something you’ve never seen at all. Black and red, with an insignia on his shoulder sleeve. “Don’t think so. I really was just taking a walk, sweeping the trash.” There was a low rumble of laughter erupting from your throat as you trained your gun towards the man in front of you.

His group had already unsheathed their weapons, still staring at you with obvious distrust. You couldn’t think; for the longest time since that day in the alleyway, all you ever wanted was to see blood. “Put the gun down--”

You fired three shots. The man had also done so, with a curse escaping his lips. Your hip burst in pain, but you still dodged out of his way, and ran forward. “What the fuck?!” He didn’t expect you to get so close, but once you did, you fired another shot, this time, to the hidden assailant behind him.

He and the group finally realized what you just did, and he was quick to train his shotguns towards the enemy Omnic squadron before you. You had one trained eye on Black and Red, something you decided to call his group, and another on the Omnic you’re currently gunning to death. They were humanoid but that doesn’t matter to you.

You wanted blood to spill, whether it’s the oil from the Omnics or not.

* * *

That’s where you first met, and fought alongside, Gabriel Reyes.

Intramuros, the famous walled city in Manila, had endured one of the most tragic battles in the history of the Omnic crisis. It signaled the end of the country’s civil war, all because of the intervention of Overwatch.

You stayed behind on its first official clean up. Overwatch set up an evacuation center in the city, to treat the survivors and its soldiers who fought in the battle. You were also part of the victory; you were getting treated for your injuries. The famous Dr. Angela Ziegler was there, and with her skill you were already as good as new.

You found Sebastian in one of their medical tents. Three gunshots to the chest and he’s still the same snarky bastard as before. He gave you once-over and snootily claimed you looked worse than he did. “Am I supposed to be glad you’re alive?” He quipped as you chuckled as well.

You told him about Balao, and he told you about Captain Santos. The old man had died protecting his medic from the initial blast, and that scenario gave you a clue on how Balao’s death went as well. He probably shielded you from it; he was always the more observant one of the environment than you.

But that didn’t matter to you now.

_Talking hurts your mouth, talking takes up so much energy and time._

“What are you going to do?” You quietly asked him. You already knew, but you needed a distraction.

Sebastian’s going home. Back to his wife and kid. He deserved that at least. “The war is over.” He said to you, frowning. “We don’t have to be soldiers anymore.”

But you wanted to be a soldier. You wanted to fight. You dropped out of university just to protect your country, or so you thought. You realized how foolish you were, chasing your dreams like a child.

Your wish had been granted, however. The war is over. The country is safe, you’ve fought well and hard. Is that...all there is to it? “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” You honestly said. Sebastian hummed in response; both of you knew there’s no clear answer for that.

You figured you’d go back, finish your studies. Would anyone look twice at you if you told them you were pursuing a Literature degree? You would. Captain Santos did. Balao did too. Sebastian only shrugged; he didn’t give a shit and luckily you shared the same sentiments.

You ran into Reyes a second time. Or maybe he found you. He was a dark figure looming over the entrance of the tent. He cleared his throat and called you out, “Got a minute?” He was looking at you, and your dark eyes met his warm brown ones.

“Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, the ending is awkward for a reason. As this was originally a one-shot, I had to cut it here. Hope it wasn't too abrupt; chapter two should probably up in a few hours anyways.
> 
> Also how do you indent this format is cringe
> 
> Some terminologies and translations:
> 
> Agila: Eagle.  
> Barangay: A neighborhood in the Philippines.  
> Barangay Captain: A high-elected official in a barangay in the Philippines. Kinda like a sheriff.  
> Putangina: Literally translates to ‘your mother is whore’. In the Philippines, this is one of the most widely known and used curses.


	2. Being A Blackwatch Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, you got in. Now what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to post this as soon as Chapter 1 was up. Man, I have too many fics under hiatus.
> 
> Edit: Fixed a possible plot hole and some technical mistakes. Hopefully it doesn't bother the story in the future.
> 
> Enjoy!

You tugged at the sleeve of your uniform, your gloved fingers skimming over the Blackwatch crest that was stitched so carefully.

Reyes-Commander Reyes was impressed with you. So damn much, you got in the organization you were hearing so much about. He wanted you in, and you didn't have much of a choice. You were still a deserter of the Philippine Army. You kinda forgot about that while prancing around half the archipelago, donning your vigilante get-up. It was either jail time for you, or another day out into the battlefield.

The experience was too surreal; it's been a while since you've had a real commanding office in a real military base. You were shipped immediately since that day Reyes met you; From the tropical climate of the Philippines to the bitter coldness of Switzerland, where the main branch was located. Blackwatch was Overwatch's black ops unit and that's where you were assigned. You figured it was inevitable for a spotless organization to start staging behind-the-scenes missions to keep it going. The world is such a shithole to begin with.

Commander Reyes made sure you were working your butt off, as he had promised. You accompanied him in his missions. You trained under the harshest conditions. You sparred against him in the training rooms, sometimes with the cyborg ninja called Genji. You weren't spared just because you were short or a girl. You quickly mastered hand-to-hand combat; it was your favorite fighting style anyways.

That was almost a year ago. When he felt like you were ready to fight without his supervision, he assigned you to Blackwatch Delta. They needed one more assault rifleman, or woman, and you fit in just fine.

They were just a bit surprised to see you.

"A kid? No offense, Commander. She wouldn't last out there." The team captain said to Reyes. You were there beside him, tilting your head and smiling in the most childish way you could afford.

You mentally dared him to call you a kid again.

The Commander saw this and rolled his eyes at you. "She's just short, and she's got a potty mouth, all right. But she's fought alongside me several times, and saved my ass alot more than I could count." He shook his head at the squad's reluctance. They have seen you in the training room and he was irritated on their ignorance.

As it turns out, you really were amazing on the field. Besides your crass remarks and borderline insubordinating actions, you always managed to do your job. Missions were so much more easier with you in it, and they couldn't praise you enough. This life, as you figured out in the long run, was much better than your time in the Army.

It cannot, of course, be better than your time as a vigilante.

You were considered the best among the cadets with your skill on the heavy pulse rifle. The only one to rival you was, of course, the actual Strike Commander.

"Agent," You looked up from the training bot and your dark eyes met the cold azure blue of the organization's leader. "Strike Commander," You said cooly. You weren't so quick on your salute either; painfully slow and lazy even. You forced yourself from smiling when he frowned at you.

The Strike Commander didn't like you. You made it perfectly clear that the feeling was mutual, though you don't remember how and why this happened in the first place. It may have something to do with your behavior. You were crass and infuriating; no matter how good you were out there, you always got complaints towards your behavior.

It may also have something to do with your missions. You preferred solo operations. Blackwatch Delta was already amazing on its own; you just felt like your potential is wasted with them. Against your captain's orders, you took on the more dangerous ops; the ones where it's guaranteed you wouldn't survive at the slightest mistake.

You stopped doing those, however, when Commander Reyes found out. He was furious, yes, but was also disappointed. It was actually his disappointment that forced you to stop. For some odd reason, he reminded you a bit of Captain Santos. You pondered on that thought for the next six months while on latrine and cafeteria duty.

You find it amusing when they had similar forms of punishment as well.

Jack Morrison was Reyes's exact opposite. While your commanding officer was, in your own terms, the grumpy father figure of your unit, Morrison was the picture-perfect, drill sergeant from hell. He was sadistically cruel to every aspiring cadet, despite his image as Overwatch's charismatic poster boy.

He particularly hated you the most. He wasted no time berating on your form, breathing down on you while training, and even went so far as to insult your fashion sense.

That one you took too personally. You love your beret just as you love pissing him off.

"You submitted the wrong mission report from Lisbon." He sneered as he slammed a bunch of paperwork on the table before you. "You couldn't even be bothered to correct your grammar. What is this, middle school?"

You looked at his face. He has that perfect, punchable face you'd love to tack a picture on the punching bag. Of course, if Reyes saw you, he'd give you six more months on latrine duty.

And so you restrained yourself. You put up a sugary smile, reserved for things you like and despise, "I'm sorry,  _sir_. I'll fix it immediately." You tried to make it sound less sarcastic and more professionally, but from the look at his face it seems you failed. Uh oh.

His face was livid. "Drop," He spoke in a dangerously slow tone. "And give me fifty."

"Fuck." You muttered as you knelt on the linoleum ground. The training room was quiet; the other agents stopped sparring to watch you do your punishment. Overwatch Blues were sorry to see you like that; a girl shouldn't be receiving any harsh punishments. Blackwatch Reds, however, hid their smirks and sarcastic remarks; you and your reckless behavior deserve this.

You did one push-up. "One," Morrison stood before you; you couldn't see it, but you know he was smirking.

That bastard. "Two,"

You're gonna kill him. "Three,"

You'd punch his stupid face. "Five,"

Knock out his stupid white teeth. "Ten,"

Like that kid back in the alley. "Fifteen,"

Beat him black and blue. "Twenty,"

Did you already mention you'll kill him? "Twenty-five,"

You'll kill him _._ "Thirty, what, you slowing down?"

He's dead _._ "Thirty-five,"

 _They're dead._ "Forty,"

 _Captain Santos._ "Forty-five,"

 _Balao._ "Fifty."

You gasped as your sore body hit the mat. The training room's buzz went back and you shook uncontrollably from the pain and soreness of your muscles. "Well now," Your eyes flitted open, tiredly gazing at Morrison's shit-eating grin. "That isn't so bad." He remarked.

You wanted to spite him, really, you do. But your exhausted body wouldn't allow you another fifty or so push-ups. "Don't forget your report, I need it tonight." You glared at him as he walked away.

After that, word got around the Swiss base of your recent exploit. Of course, this reached Reyes's ears, and he's none too happy about it. "This the sixth time in a month, Agent-!" You were pretty sure he said your name over the loud clatter of books being thrown at you.

You winced to yourself. Reyes was probably having a shit day if he's throwing stuff. You're used to it though. "S-sorry, Commander…" You mumbled as you endured another book thrown at you.

Y'ouch. And it had to be Dostoevsky's 'Brothers Karamazov'.

Reyes sat back on his chair; taking off his beanie as he ran a hand through his buzzed hair. "I don't even think latrine duty's gonna cut it this time. Might as well ship you off to fucking Canada or Iceland or something." He grumbled as you didn't say anything. You've never been shipped off somewhere before. Your friend, Jesse McCree, got shipped off to Watchpoint New York a week ago, acting as a spy. You thought it might be interesting.

"No don't give me that crap." He said as your eyes widened. "You think things would be easy? You'll be sent off only with the clothes on your back and a box of supplies. It would only last you a week."

"You would be working everyday with no break since there's so few agents there; you'd have to pick up the slack and work twice as hard as you did here. No kitchen staff, limited supplies, and maintenance gonna be a bitch. If you ever get into trouble, note that main branch would be late. You'll have to defend on your own." He barked as you stood there, shame flooding your insides.

This honestly felt like a parent scolding their child, but you would never tell Reyes that.

"What the hell is your problem, Agent? I get that you're hard to work with but it's never been this bad before." You grimaced. He's right. "Skipping training, reckless behavior on the field, I get that. You're still a brat through and through. But talking back to your superior officer?" He pinched the bridge of his nose as he groaned.

"Make matters worse, it had to be fucking Morrison…" He grumbled as you bit your lip.

"I...I really am sorry, sir."

"I know. I just don't know what I'm going to do with you."

Commander Reyes swiveled his chair, facing away from you. You could hear him mutter curses in Spanish under his breath. You didn't know what else to say. A snarky remark certainly won't make things better.

While Reyes had his back on you, you look down at the numerous books scattered on the floor. The one that really hit you hard was Dostoevsky, literally (hah!) and figuratively. You remember reading his novel during college. It was a required reading for your course and you thought it was the longest material you've ever read. You were wrong when your professor introduced Don Quixote the next year.

You picked up the hardbound book, gloved fingers skimming through the gilded lettering. You remembered those days, waking up in the morning of your small dormitory, the novel slipping from your fingers. At breakfast, it will be propped up by the toaster. You'd read it while waiting for your bus, and consequently, you'd read it in the bus as well, waiting for Manila traffic to budge.

While on breaks, on grace periods, hell, sometimes on the toilet, your eyes never left that book. It was such a damn shame, that even after reading the material, you still got a low grade on your critical essay about it. Your professor, a snooty son-of-a-bitch who had more Palancas to his name than you had credits in your degree, simply stated how dull and mediocre you sounded in your paper.

You can't help but agree with him, though you still hated how he described your paper as 'mediocre'. That was quite traumatic word for you.

Even so, you despised how you worked yourself to the bone and still did not get the recognition you deserve. In the academe, that was your problem. The same can still be said when you enlisted in the army. You were the only girl in your college to enlist. Your mother disapproved of your decision, patriarchal sentiments aside; she didn't want her baby girl in military greens. Your commanding officers before Captain Santos jokingly thought you wouldn't survive.

Still, you refused. Despite your weak state, despite never handling a gun or lifting weights in all your life as a student, you never gave up. The drive to prove yourself was the heaviest factor of them all.

If you couldn't protect your country through your words, you're sure as hell ain't going to go down without a fight. Love for country or not, you'll show them.

Smiling slightly at the memories, you slid the huge tome back on Commander Reyes's desk. You cleared your throat, loud enough to garner his attention. "Sir," Your voice was small and timid, just like you.

But unwavering,  _just like you._ "I know I did a lot of stupid things, and I'm sorry. I know my words won't undo my past actions, but I'm willing to do whatever I can to gather your trust back." You said with shy determination, your eyes locking onto his warm, chocolate brown ones.

"W-what I mean to say...is...t-that…" You tried to continue but Reyes put up a hand to stop you from embarrassing yourself further.

"I understand, kid." He sighed, but you can see that some of his anger had disappeared. "I'll let you know of your punishment later. Until then, go fix that report of yours and head to Morrison. Dismissed."

You saluted him, a proper one, and walked out of the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn! A kudo already? That means somebody really is reading my stuff!
> 
> Some terminologies and translations:
> 
> Palanca: The Palanca Awards or Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature are the literary awards of the Philippines. It’s basically the Pulitzer Prize in comparison.
> 
> Cheers!


	3. Why So Quiet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are you so tight-lipped about?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just found out AO3 can be a bit buggy. I was checking up the last chapter and turns out it fucked up the format. I don't know what the hell happened or if it's my fault, but either way I'm sorry it looked so cringy.
> 
> First. actual. romantic chapter? Maybe
> 
> Enjoy!

"You know, Agent-" You didn't bother to look up as you sloppily drank the coffee Angela made for you. "For a Literature student, I'm quite surprised at how you write your reports."

It was already the late afternoon; the sun setting on the horizon of Lake Geneva was still one of the most amazing things you've seen since your time as a soldier, besides Manila Bay. It worked on your favor, having Angela as your friend, for the view is insanely the best coming from medbay. "...Yeah. I wasn't thinking straight." You mumbled out an apology as the Swiss doctor merely tsked at your work.

You thought it was strange, having Angela as a friend. Despite your sailor's mouth and obvious disregard for your life, you still find yourself strangely drawn towards someone who's your complete opposite.

The angel of the battlefield that is the combat medic Ziegler. She was truly angelic, both in appearance, name and deeds. Her call sign was 'Mercy' and it fitted her beautifully.

Angela gave your a report another once over, and handed it back to you with a firm nod. "You are planning to apologize to Jack, right?" She inquired as you resisted rolling your eyes.

"I fucked up pretty bad to get Reyes to throw his prized Russian literature collection at me. Might as well." You answered nonchalantly as Angela gave you  _that look_.

"Oh come on, Angela! Dostoevsky and Tolstoy really fuckin' hurt. My toes felt like they stubbed the end of a table." You cried out as she didn't say anything and only raised a brow.

"Okay,  _fine_." You whined, putting your hands up in the air as a sign of defeat. The blonde quirked a triumphant smirk as she patted your shoulder. "It's going to be alright. Just...don't make things worse, okay?" She reassured you through a series of shoulder rubs.

"You're an actual godsend, Ange." You purred when she undid a particularly nasty knot by your left clavicle. The doctor hummed in response.

"Everyone's having a bad week. It's probably the stress building up."

"Tell me about it. Morrison made me do fifty push-ups just for saying 'sir' wrong."

" _Quiet_." You weren't sure if she's telling you to be silent, or if she's reprimanding you by your call sign.

"Sorry, Mercy."

You heard her let out a small chuckle. "So," She undid another knot, earning her a satisfied growl from you. "Why is your call sign 'Quiet' when you're so obviously not?" Your smile faded slightly as you tried to recall the first few reasons for it.

* * *

It was during a particular grueling time in the army. You've been training, and out of Squad Agila you were always the last one left on the training course. It was just a few months into training and the commanding officer before Captain Santos gave up on you. He was ready to stamp your name out of the army and into termination.

You wheezed as your arms dropped to your knees. The obstacle course was hell, but because you were so slow you had to go through it twice. "Hey!" Your CO barked out your name and you can't help but clutch onto the fence for support.

"If you're so goddamn weak, then why the hell did you enlist?!" He screamed at your face as you winced. You still can't breathe properly.

"The Omnics are gonna tear your asshole apart and you'd still be a liability!"

"I-I'm...I'm sorry, sir…"

"Save it," Your eyes widened as your CO grunted at you in disapproval. "You're out. If you can't even survive a simple obstacle course, then you won't survive out there." He started walking away when your breathing hitched.

Suddenly, all was silent. You could hear how steady your heartbeat was, as you straightened up and calmly,  _quietly_ , spoke out. "Sir." You managed to gather his attention as you flicked your head towards the course.

"Again."

And you completed it, in record time as well, the fastest in the army to date. You savored the look on his face when your boots splashed onto the mud, your tired but determined walk towards him was euphoric to say the least.

It all probably started there. Since then, your CO was  _slightly_  terrified of you, and it wasn't that long until he was swiftly replaced by Captain Santos. Your quiet, ruthless demeanor scared the shit out of your squad mates (except for Balao, he continued being a jerk to you), that the esteemed war veteran went to see for himself how a small girl managed to scare the crap out of his old war buddies.

Captain Santos kept a close watch on you. The remainder of the days you were timid, yes, but not exactly threatening. You kept to yourself, sometimes writing on a pocketbook during breakfast and lunch. He watched you cry over a book, which was Tolstoy's 'Anna Karenina' if you weren't mistaken. You insisted recommending him paperback books even though they're a rarity these days. He couldn't understand what was so scary about a bookworm until your first deployment.

The enemy had taken control over a small, public school. They threatened to execute the students and teachers if the president didn't listen to their demands; a measly sum of _fifty million pesos_. You thought it was pretty stupid of them; the president literally can't listen to the demands of terrorists, even though he was a shit president to begin with.

Squads Agila and Ibarra were deployed. The enemy was rather well prepared, and the first hour was stuck in a deadlock; hostages weren't killed just yet, but with how negotiations were going, things will go down south soon if the army doesn't do something.

You approached the tent of the makeshift command center, briefly meeting Captain Santos's eyes. "Sir? I may have a suggestion." You had a timid,  _quiet_ , voice. You were so sure they were going to ignore a simple infantrymen.

But Captain Santos pushed himself away from his colleagues and waved a hand for you to continue. "I went to this school sir." You began as he raised a brow in surprise.

"I know where the hidden entrances are, and if the enemy is very thorough as we think they are, we may assume that the sewers located by the creek remains unguarded." By this, you had his full attention.

"Sewers, you say?"

"Correct," You breathed in as you tried to recall. "The principal had it sealed after a child wandered in there and got hurt. A few years later my classmates and I broke the seal as a dare." You shrugged when he couldn't piece things together.

"And?"

"It's public knowledge that the gate to the sewers is still sealed. Balao and I scouted earlier and found that it's still open. There wasn't anyone there. The plan is to go through the sewer system and into school property. Once inside, we neutralize the main targets while a decoy force begins their assault at the front gates, drawing out their attention."

"If we're sneaking in ahead, we can't allow a large force." He said, mulling over the plan.

You pushed forward, silent eagerness barely visibly in your tone. "I can go in. I know the school like the back of my hand."

"Out of the question, soldier."

"I won't go alone. I'll need one more assault man, and Balao would be my eyes." You looked at Captain Santos with a quiet yet fierce determination, that he can't help but sigh.

"Alright, but I'll be going with you." You were surprised at this. The commanding officers of the army usually stay behind and bark orders, but nonetheless you gave the captain a firm nod.

Captain Santos was right to fear you. Not the way he feared God, but he gave you his utmost  _respect_  when the both of you clambered out of an old grate in the familiar janitor's closet. He flashed you a proud grin, and you couldn't help but take pride as well.

CQC, or close-quarters-combat, was Captain Santos's specialty. Armed with nothing but your military grade assault rifles and combat knives, the two of you stealthily walked through its halls. Intel reports at least fifteen assailants inside the school, and twenty or so more outside of it. "Ready, Quiet?" He whispered to you, and for some reason, that call sign was a natural, god-given name for you.

You licked your lips and managed to grin beneath your balaclava. "Ready, sir."

* * *

You waved goodbye at Angela once evening rolled by. You politely declined her invitation to dinner. "I have to deal with this, remember?" You held up the stack of the neatly compiled papers as the medic gave you a sympathetic smile.

You waited until dinner time to submit your finalized report. That way, you figured, Morrison would be out and you'd save yourself the trouble of meeting him. You weren't ready to apologize to him, your pride wouldn't allow it, but you promised to Angela (and to Commander Reyes) you wouldn't do anything that would make things worse.

You sighed as you reached the elevator that was meant for the executives and higher ups of the organization. "Welcome, Agent Quiet." You heard Athena's cool voice as you made a noise of acknowledgement.

"Top floor, Strike Commander's office, Athena. Gonna drop off my report."

"As you wish. Strike Commander Morrison has already approved your presence." Done already, huh?

The elevator smoothly moved upwards as you leaned onto the glass wall, rubbing your temples. Besides making up with Morrison, you still had to look forward to whatever punishment Reyes is setting you up. You half-hoped it would be latrine duty, for a year, you'd manage. But pissing off the face of Overwatch isn't exactly a good thing on your already growing list of punishments and demerits. Latrine duty for the rest of your sorry life wouldn't cut it.

There was a soft ping, and the elevator doors slid open, revealing the Strike Commander's impressive office. Good, his desk was empty. You had stepped off, your eyes busy looking around to place your report when you heard that dreaded voice. "Ahem."

You spun around in shock, your mouth open, ready to scream,  _"Putang-!"_  And immediately, you slapped a hand over your mouth. Morrison sat on the sofa area, a bemused look on his face as he sipped his drink. There was a tray on the coffee table of what looked like  _a really good steak_  with mashed potatoes and green peas, alongside a slice of apple pie at the side.

You closed your eyes. Of course, the Strike Commander with his big-ass office and fat paycheck would eat steak and apple pie in the same big-ass office you just insulted in your head. "Er, good evening, sir." You started, willing your initial shock to ebb away as soon as possible.

"Good evening, agent." He greeted you, no underlying hate in his tone this time. You realized he wasn't wearing his signature blue coat. The armguards were also off, as well as the blue eyepiece he usually wore. Seeing him without the armor made you realize how buffed he still is. Reyes was certainly taller than him, but Morrison was, for the lack of a better term,  _jacked_. He sat back on the beige sofa, still eyeing you with his sky blue orbs with a slightly playful grin on his face.

You chewed your tongue. You can do this. You'll behave. "I got you the Lisbon report, sir." You said.

After leaving Blackwatch Delta, you've since started shuffling between Overwatch and Blackwatch missions. Commander Reyes thought it would help you sort out your behavior while still doing your duty. Of course, this meant Morrison's your official CO for all Overwatch missions, where Reyes won't have any jurisdiction despite being a high ranking officer.

You had a hard time adjusting, at first, but this is where you became friends with Angela in the first place, after accompanying her so many times on certain operations. You once told Reyes how the Blues seem to get the 'cleaner' missions a lot. It was severely confusing having to listen to both the Reds and the Blues at the same time; you were much more aggressive while on the Blues and was accidentally too 'soft' while on the Reds.

You handed the stack towards Morrison's ungloved hands, and you noticed how huge his hands are; they'd easily take over yours. Easy, there. "Good." He only grunted in response, his blue eyes scanning the paper immediately.

You stood up straighter, your jaw clenched to avoid unnecessary remarks. "If there's anything else, sir, I'll be on my way." You gave him your usual salute as you strutted back to the elevator, hoping he wouldn't stop you.

"Agent,"  _Goddamnit._  "Sit down."

You exhaled, running a small scenario in mind. You spent hours proofreading that report, hell, even Angela checked it for you. If this gets trashed you're running back to Blackwatch quarters and hide from all of your commanding officers; protocol be damned. "Okay, sir."

You turned heel and sat yourself on the furthest sofa seat from Morrison, back stiff and hands folded over your lap. You waited for him to start speaking, possibly waiting for that familiar, verbal backlash. "Tell me what happened in Lisbon." You heard him say when you raised a brow.

"Can't you just read it from the report?"

"That's an order, agent."

You snapped your head at him, ready for a quick retort, when you finally noticed it. His eyes haven't lifted themselves from the stack of papers, obviously reading it still. "Fine," You exhaled once more as you tried to recall the events that transpired the week ago.

"Operation Blue Collar Job." That was the name of the operation, and you thought it was one of the best damn things you've named it, besides marking it as part of Overwatch Blues'. Although your squad mates weren't so keen on your vulgar word play, you still thought it was a fantastic name.

You began that day teasing Angela and Genji while on your way to the drop ship. It was so obvious to the entire Swiss base how infatuated the cyborg was with his savior. "Don't worry, Genji." You smirked as you watched him sputter out the usual excuses. "I'll protect Angela." You cooed at him as you wrapped an arm around her waist, flashing him a sinister smile. The ninja gave up and formally bade Mercy goodbye; taking extra care not to do the same to you.

The operation was simple. Evacuate the staff of some Portuguese textile factories that were near the front lines. Seems like a fairly simple job, with HQ sending out only one squad for evacuation. Lieutenant Wilhelm Reinhardt will be there as your temporary captain. There were three other assault rifle men with you: Maurice, Metz, and Santino. Angela was your medic. You were the only Blackwatch member in your squad.

You remembered their sullen faces once you and Mercy walked into the ship. "Quiet." Lieutenant Reinhardt acknowledged you with a polite smile as you saluted him half-heartedly.

"Nice to be working with you, sir."

Your dark eyes watched the three other cadets regard you with the utmost scrutiny; sloppily sizing you up. You didn't bother to do the same. Maurice was ten years older than you and was infamous for friendly fire. Metz recently had a shoulder dislocation that alters his fighting style by a lot; he was a sniper but was forced to use heavy pulse rifles for the meantime. Santino was that loud brat who catcalled you a while back, before you managed to knock a tooth out of him during a joint sparring between Blues and Reds.

You stopped your musing for a bit as you silently held back a giggle. Morrison looked at you with a twitching eyebrow.

Nonetheless, you continued. The three didn't bother you while on the way to Portugal. Lieutenant Reinhardt, while disliking Blackwatch in itself, was courteous and kind to you; as expected from a chivalrous knight. Angela, you found out later, went along just to keep an eye out for the aging old man.

The plan was boring; as expected of the Blues. Maintain a defensive position before each factory as you evacuate each and every factory worker while keeping an eye out for your usual enemies. Mercy would be there to check whether they've been hurt or not.

Everything was smooth sailing until the third factory.

As it turns out, there were rogue mercenaries hiding out in there. The workers were forced to keep quiet about it, or else they'd be gunned down to death. You noticed it when they were cooperating with you a  _little too friendly_ , as if they were silently egging you on towards the back rooms.

"Sir," You spoke to your comm. "I have some possible assailants in the factory, counting at least one squad. Permission to investigate?"

"Permission granted,  _fraulein_." You got up and stalked towards the backroom. "Sending Metz to your location." You didn't need the backup. But you reluctantly stopped anyways, long enough to wait for your fellow Blue. You didn't want another reason to piss off your COs.

Metz arrived a minute later, and sometime after that you engaged the enemy.

You looked at Morrison, who finished reading the report and was looking back at you with interest. "Metz accidentally dislocated his shoulder  _again._  Angela managed to pop it back on, I got some bruisings and some lacerations from the fight, but nothing her nanotechnology can't clear up." You said and that ended your report.

The Strike Commander finally nodded, albeit slowly, in approval. "I learned from Gabe how you used to be an arts student." He said. You blinked, wondering where this is going.

"What part of the Liberal Arts?"

"Literature, sir."

"All the more reason why I was surprised how much you fucked up that report, agent." He said with a slight frown as you looked away.

Ah, so that's why. "...I'm sorry that happened, sir. As well as that time on the training grounds. I wasn't thinking straight."

"Apology accepted. Now, mind telling me then what caused you to  _not_  think straight?" He crossed his arms as he waited for your reply. You closed your eyes. He can be an ass, but damn, he's good.

You're not going to tell him how, in the split-second Metz opened that door, the nozzle of the enemy's submachine gun touched the gap between his eyes. You're not going to tell him how you forcefully swung your pulse rifle at Metz to knock him away; instead, the surrounding enemy ganged up on you immediately.

You're not going to tell him how they grabbed your arms and brought you to your knees as they demanded to know your purpose here. When you didn't reply, they smacked your face in a piss-effort to get you to talk. Metz, after recovering from the initial hit, tried to stop them but your captors were annoyingly smart.

They were too damn lucky to sock Metz  _directly_  at his injured shoulder and, unsurprisingly, he was down and knocked out for the count. Things could've ended there; they could've gotten back at you and resume interrogating, or they would've killed you for all you care.

They were just so _goddamn stupid_  to go after your fellow Blue instead of you.

Metz  _was_  your fellow Blue, even if you didn't like him. You didn't radio Lieutenant Reinhardt or Angela or any of your equally unimportant teammates. All you could remember was the apparent fear in Metz's eyes shapeshifting into the familiar face of Balao and because of that-

"Agent?"

You blinked again. The blonde man beside you had snapped his fingers in front of your unmoving face, and you swallowed thickly. "Strike Commander, can I have your apple pie?" You asked softly, wanting to change the subject, as he clucked his tongue in a disapproving tone.

He handed you the pie anyways. " _Salamat,_  sir." You daintily picked at the slice with the plastic fork. It was dry as hell, but damn; that's still a good apple pie.

"You're welcome."

You looked at him, slightly surprised that he understood you. "Met too many immigrants back in the US." He shrugged as you pondered on the thought. The country's main export was, and still is, the standard Overseas Filipino Worker, or OFW for short. Of course he'd pick up some of your words, or at least, try to understand some of it.

You finished the pie and placed the plate back onto the metal tray. The silence between you two was strange. Usually the both of you would be at each other's necks by now. Morrison resumed drinking whatever he had on his mug, while you used your sleeve to wipe off the excess crumbs from your lips.

You craned your head to look at him, only to meet his scary blue eyes, staring intently into yours. You felt your heart start beating irregularly.

 _Weird._  "If there's anything else," You said once again. "I'll be going now, sir."

"Alright." At his word, you gratefully stood up from the sofa, crumbs falling into the plush carpet.

"Good night, sir."

"Good night, agent."

This time, you gave him a proper salute.

* * *

Once he was sure you've left, Jack Morrison let out a shaky breath. He didn't know he was keeping it in for the last minute, nor did he understand why he'd done so to begin with.

He rubbed his face in an effort to massage it. His knee bumped onto the fat stack of papers on the coffee table and he stared at it briefly. He didn't understand why you lied in your report, even after asking you to verbally recount it. Questions raced his mind. Were you trying to save Metz from the embarrassment? Was it just pride that kept you from including that particular fight in the report?

He wasn't about to call you out on your bullshit just yet. Reinhardt informed him of that mission. When you didn't answer your comm in the last thirty minutes, he was about to come find you. Imagine his surprise and apparent shock when you came back, dragging an unconscious Metz by the collar of his shirt. He was badly hurt, emphasized by the jagged angle of his right arm, but you were worse off.

Bloody and bruised was an understatement. The fact that the blood wasn't even yours makes things a lot more difficult. You were holding onto Metz's pulse rifle; yours, you simply stated, was broken beyond repair. "Five guys got the jump on us, but we're fine. Managed to neutralize them all, sir." You had so nonchalantly told the German through Angela's constant fussing.

You failed to mention how Reinhardt found your eyes to be so indecipherably blank and murderous at the same time.

You also didn't state in your written report how many they were, if they were from Talon, how you survived the attack, how you managed to keep Metz alive after all of that...

Jack ran his fingers across his blonde locks, a tired and irritable sigh escaping his lips. He could always just ask Angela to check up on your mental health, if that's the problem, or nag Gabriel again to keep his men and women in better shape. But he knew they were already doing their best. The problem is just you. What on earth are you so tight-lipped about?

Is this why you're Quiet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some translations and terminologies:
> 
> Overseas Filipino Worker (OFW): A term often used to refer to Filipino migrant workers, people with Filipino citizenship who reside in another country for a limited period of employment. At present time, there are over 10 million OFWs, and I believe by the 2050s, the number would have raised by 30 million.
> 
> Salamat: Thanks.
> 
> Cheers!


	4. Animal Crackers and Spilled Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have a new mission. You take all the necessary preparations for it, as well as some unwanted baggage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, I’m so happy for your kudos! And 2 bookmarks, what the hell, and a comment holy sh--
> 
> Ah, anyway, I hope you enjoy this piece! It's strangely longer than my usual ones, but I'm feeling inspired lately. Maybe because there's just so damn many fics here than there are on FF dot net.

The next morning, you received a message from Commander Reyes summoning you to his office.

You stopped by the cafeteria first. You shoveled breakfast into your mouth: warm, lumpy oatmeal, your favorite. Beside you, Angela wrinkled her nose in mild disgust. “Busy day today?” She simply asked when you shrugged.

“Not sure. I heard Jesse’s coming home today.”

“Ah, yes. Genji told me that.”

You paused for a moment to give her a sidelong smirk. “Oh, so _Genji_ told you, huh?” You teased as you enjoyed seeing the faint blush sprinkling Angela’s cheeks.

“Aww, that poor kid! What was her name again, Captain Amari’s daughter? Fatima, Padma?” Angela’s blush deepened to a crimson color.

“Q-Quiet..!”

You laughed as the blonde slapped your forearm, effortlessly trying to keep you quiet--aren’t you already? “She’s a bright kid. It’s cute how she follows you around a lot, Angie.” You openly teased her again. The blonde then reminded you that the teenager’s name is Fareeha Amari, and if you didn’t shut up for the next minute she’s dumping your face on that disgusting oatmeal. You chuckled at her morning vigor.

You still have some time to kill before meeting Reyes. Blackwatch Reds always love to take their breakfast seriously. While Angela busied herself with another colleague of hers, you took this time to catch up on your reading. You gingerly held up a thick paperback from your pocket and brought it close to your chest, your back slouched and your eyes skimming over the surface.

You’re excited to get back into reading. You haven’t done it in a while, with the constant missions and you flying in and out of base. Sometimes you’d read during missions, though you stopped that habit of yours after a particularly nasty night op at Louisiana, sending you and your stuff in flames at Mardi Gras.

You shuddered at the memory. Genji had to hold you back while you screamed at the burning luggage. There goes Umberto Eco’s ‘Name of the Rose’ down in the flames, quite literally. You’d find it ironic if it were Rizal’s ‘El Filibusterismo’ or Skye’s ‘Leven Thumps’ series, but you digress.

You were engrossed in your little world. Burying yourself in your book, you didn’t notice two high-ranking Blues settling their breakfast trays on the same table as yours, taking a seat on the bench opposite you. “Morning, Angela.” A woman’s warm voice sounded, as Mercy paused her conversation with her coworker to gently wave at Ana Amari and the Strike Commander himself.

Jack nodded, and turned his attention to you, a frown creasing his golden features. You still hadn’t noticed them. Your shoulders were hunched forward, legs curled underneath your small frame, like a kid snuggling on an armchair on a cold snowy night. Beside him, Ana stared at you with apparent interest; she’s heard a lot of interesting stories about you.

A promising one was about you screaming in anguish over a burnt book.

You finally felt a pinprick of annoyance, that subtle feeling of someone watching you. You took a peek over your paperback to see the Strike Commander and the famous Captain Amari staring at you with varying emotions; the former obviously put off by your very existence and the latter genuinely curious with a sparkle in her eyes.

You blinked, wondering why they’re looking at you and not eating their breakfast. “...Morning, sir, ma’am.” You offered a timid, strained greeting.

“So she lives.” Morrison mumbled as he plowed through his scrambled eggs. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at him.

Captain Amari called out your name, and so your attention turned to her. “So, you’re the infamous Quiet. I don’t see the relevance of that callsign of yours to the stories surrounding your personality.” She sharply quipped as you feigned a grimace.

“Believe me, ma’am, I ask myself that everyday.”

Breakfast resumed in a quiet, tense manner. Maybe it was because of Morrison, who took great pleasure in pointing out all of your visible flaws such as your posture and the bags under your eyes, or maybe  it was because of Captain Amari, who kept asking you to validate some of the embarrassing stories she’s heard about you.

You sighed, for the tenth time, and shook your head at one of the wilder accusations. “No, ma’am. That was definitely Biggs and Wedge; I wasn’t even near the fire extinguisher at the time!” You replied hotly as Amari leaned back, exploding in laughter. From the corner of your eye, you could see Morrison smirking at you.

Your heart started acting weird again. You buried your face in your paperback, wanting to disappear at once. “So, what’re you reading, Quiet?” The older woman asked, her curious eyes checking out the cover of the book you’re clutching so dearly.

“Ah,” For once, the change of topic gave you a breath of relief from the constant embarrassment. “‘All My Lonely Islands’, by VJ Campilan. My professor recommended it to me.”

“That’s right, you were a Literature student before enlisting, huh?”

“Yes,” The memory unconsciously brought a slight smile to your face. You didn’t see Morrison pause so suddenly and so briefly, that he was back to shoveling food into his mouth in that split second. Of course, that didn’t escape Ana’s peripheral, being an ace sniper and all.

You looked upwards to see the clock. “Shit, I’m already late.” You mumbled as you got up from your seat. “Love to stay and chat with you Blues, but I need to go. Commander’s gonna kill me.” You whined to no one in particular as you tucked your book under your armpit and saluted at the two.

“Say hi to Gabe for us.” Ana winked as Angela bade you goodbye. You quickly jogged out of the mess hall, taking extra careful not to bump into anymore Blues while sneaking glances back at your book. You wanted to read so badly, but work’s needed to be done first.

Blackwatch main hallway is directly below the Swiss headquarters, mainly consisted of the basement area. Super secret and all that for a black ops division, though you did complain a lot on the lack of windows. “Damn it, Reyes’s gonna lash my back.” You took the stairs instead of the elevator, and sprinted the rest of the way towards his office.

 _Knock, knock._ “Get inside, Quiet.” You groaned at his irritated tone.

“Look, Commander.” You began as you ushered yourself in and closed the door behind you. “The elevator was full and every Blue out there was giving me the stink eye so--”

You stopped fussing at the sight of one obnoxious-looking cowboy, standing by your commander’s desk. He had an unlit cigar poised between his smirking lips as he tipped his hat out to you.”Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” His familiar southern drawl caused you to almost accidentally drop your book, a wide smile forming on your face.

“Jesse!” You exclaimed, walking closer to grip the hand he offered you, as you patted his shoulder into a tight hug. “Welcome back, how was Watchpoint New York?” You inquired as his face turned sour and rolled his eyes.

“Terrible! They wouldn’t lemme drink nor smoke nor nothin’! There were more sticks up their asses than the ones we already have ere’!” He was exasperated as you hid a chuckle. Both of you knew that was meant for Morrison.

“Ahem,” Commander Reyes cleared his throat as the two of you stood in rapt attention. The both of you knew pissing Reyes off so early in the morning isn’t something you’d want to start the day. “As I was saying,” He grumbled as he gestured towards the cowboy.

“Good to have you back, McCree.” Jesse nodded at him. “The intel you acquired is too damn valuable to pass it up; you did great out there.”

You can feel the pride swelling up Jesse’s chest right now, and it was your turn to roll your eyes.

“All in a hard day’s work, boss.”

You find Reyes and Jesse’s unlikely father and son relationship to be adorable. You were recruited first before the cowboy, who was only spared from execution due to his incredible shooting skills. Reyes was fond of him, though his apparent affection was questionable to say the least with how he roughs him up through training. They sparred almost all the time, with your Commander always winning and Jesse getting sent to medbay.

But even so, Jesse looks up to Reyes like his own flesh and blood. You would know how this feels like. Seeing them bicker over burnt breakfast or banter over the comm during missions has sparked some memories of you traveling and fighting alongside Captain Santos and your two comrades.

You listened to Reyes’s briefing. Another joint mission with the Blues, perhaps? “You remember that treaty that signed the end the Omnic crisis, right?” You nodded; the peace accords were signed the month after you were inducted into Blackwatch. “The UN is celebrating a week long anniversary and it’s starting tomorrow in London, and Overwatch was required to attend the festivities as a...formality.” Reyes spat out that last part with disdain and you winced. No doubt Director Petras’s doing.

McCree raised a brow. “So...Blackwatch is also going?”

“Not officially.” You tilted your head. “As Overwatch’s Strike Commander, Morrison’s coming, as well as a squad to serve as his bodyguards. Your job,” He pointed at the two of you. “Is to keep a close eye on him _at all times_.”

“Oh.” You finally realized the bigger picture. The peace accords, while relatively new, has angered some people who were opposed to it. War was economically profitable, so you could understand their hate and want to start all over again. Painting Morrison as a target, or any of the UN directors and executives, will surely start another one. “You want us to neutralize the enemy before they can, right, Commander?” You quietly said as Reyes nodded.

“If the public finds out of any assassination attempts, Overwatch will be in hot water.”

“So it’s just to be safe than sorry, huh?” Jesse tilted his hat down while you crossed your arms. “Still, just two people from Blackwatch is kinda pushing it, sir. I’m pretty sure we’d need at least one more.” You wondered on your options. Obviously, having Genji along will make things easier should it escalate, but you remembered he’s out today until tomorrow on a recon mission in Hanamura. You could probably get Scheherazade or Sisa but you don’t honestly know them very well.

Reyes released a sigh, his eyes closing. “I was supposed to assign this mission on a full squad, like Delta.” He then shot you a glare while you quickly looked away, whistling. “But I’m probably just being paranoid. Two is enough, hell, you and McCree are enough.”

“You’re getting the day off today. Rest up, pack whatever you need, and you’re gone the next morning at 0600. Morrison and his squad will brief you on the drop ship. Do me a favor and don’t be late, alright?” He looked at you both sternly as you and Jesse stood at attention and saluted him.

“Alright, sir.”

“Yes, commander.”

* * *

You went back to your room. Blackwatch was still fairly new, so each member has their own quarters. It’s also not like you have a guaranteed longer life span working here; quick to get in and even quicker to get out. Criminals seeking salvation like Jesse and surviving stragglers like you and Genji are so common in the unit. There’s probably a dozen more empty rooms here than there are in the main headquarters.

You remember making an off-color comment about Overwatch’s barracks to Angela and Genji one time. “Having a bed shortage? Blues should bunk with us then; we got plenty.” Unfortunately for you, Morrison and Reyes both overheard you and sentenced you to cleaning the Overwatch barracks for three full nights. You literally growled at those bratty Blues who dared went your way while you changed their beddings or muck up the floor with their boots after a thorough mopping.

You kicked off your boots and slumped into your bed. Though you have your own room, it is quite small. The bed, still large for you frame, touched the three corners of your room while a dresser slash desk stood haphazardly to the side near the bathroom door. You don’t have too many personal effects on your desk, besides an old photograph of you and your unit, and a small collection of books you managed to buy through your paycheck.

Your mind wandered to today’s mission briefing. Reyes told you to pack civilian clothing among the usual Blackwatch uniform. You and Jesse will be given covers, but you’re mostly working the night ops while Morrison and the Blue squad sleep through it. You thought about packing the usual jacket, shirt and pants, but something’s stopping you.

Maybe it’s the thought about London, and how it will be your first time going there. You faintly remembered, back then in college, how you always wanted to go to London not just to see the sights but to visit its museums and libraries. Your professors used to brag about seeing the Globe Theater in person or eating at the bars and cafes Rizal was known to frequent. You dreamed about taking pictures of Big Ben or traveling with your classmates, writing poetry and all that jazz.

You chuckled to yourself how different you were before. Maybe, if the Omnic crisis didn’t happen, you would be in London tomorrow, wearing that swanky coat you wanted or with a cup of coffee in hand, pen and paper on the other.

Instead, you’ll be donning a military uniform, shadowing the face of Overwatch with your pulse rifle. You stared at the dresser, wondering if you have a nicer jacket or a cooler shirt to bring when you heard the door.

 _Knock, knock._ You lazily whipped your head at the door, not caring who’s at the other side. For all you know, it could just be Genji asking to train or Jesse looking for someone to drink with. “Come in,” Your lazy countenance, however, quickly ebbed away at the sight of one tired Gabriel Reyes.

You sat up and was about to greet him when he waved a hand to shut you up. “Think you’d let me hide out here for a while?” He gruffly said as you raised an eyebrow in surprise, before shrugging indefinitely.

“Go ahead, sir. Though I do need to tell you: I only have green tea and crackers here.”

“Don’t care about that. Just shut up and act like your call sign when someone asks for me.”

“Aye, aye.”

Reyes made a move to sit on your bed while you slid out of it and headed towards your dresser. You picked up a small, electric kettle and plugged it in the socket. “So, why are you hiding out here, sir?” You started as you uncorked a water bottle and poured it in the kettle just as you started rummaging your cabinet for those crackers.

“You can call me Gabriel or Gabe when it’s just the two of us.” You heard a loud sigh as you heard him sit down your bed. “And it’s because of Petras and his stupid board of directors prancing around so damn early in the morning. Can’t stand the sight of them.” He literally growled as you grabbed two mismatched mugs from your cabinet.

“Poor Gerard. He’s probably schmoozing them right now just to get them off your back.” Gerard Lacroix was another, high-ranking Overwatch agent you somehow personally knew and befriended through a relentless game of poker.

Command--er, Gabriel, made a noncommittal noise as he surveyed your room. “You’ve been here for what, a year now; don’t you have anything else to decorate your room with?” He said as you lightly chuckled.

“Ah, well,” You handed him a mug as you sat down on the floor with your own drink and crackers on hand, your back hitting the edge of the bed. “At least I don’t have empty beer cans or feathers lying around.” The both of you laughed at the room images of Jesse and Genji.

“Animal crackers? What are you, a kid?” Gabe frowned at the colorful red box as you put up your hands in defense. “Hey, blame it on Jesse. I asked for a souvenir from Washington and this is the only thing he could find!” You mouthed off as the other smirked.

“Maybe he does see you as a kid. Funny, you’re years older than him.”

“Oh be quiet, Gabriel.”

“That’s not my job now is it?” You glared at him as his smirk grew. The two of you then drank your tea in silence. You almost swore you heard him comment some more on the animal crackers, as he snapped the head of a giraffe while you dipped a monkey in your tea.

A year. It really has been a year. A year since the war, since you met Jesse and Genji and the rest of Overwatch. A really confusing time between grieving your fallen friends and saving the world. You guessed that you grew stronger since your time here in Blackwatch. Captain Santos and Balao would’ve been proud of you.

Your eyes traveled back to the desk, where the photograph sat. You wondered what would it have been like, if all of you survived the Intramuros battle. Maybe you wouldn’t even be in Blackwatch. The army would’ve pardoned you for your service. You would’ve gone back to university, or if you were bold enough, join Overwatch and be one of the Blues. Captain Santos would’ve joined you, that stubborn old man doesn’t know when to quit the battlefield. Balao would most probably marry his girlfriend Tria; he’d make you his best man as a joke. And Sebastian would invite you to visit his wife and kid, and laugh at your short height still as he would’ve noogied you to death.

You felt your chest tightening at those thoughts. You haven’t heard from Sebastian since then, was he mad at you? “Quiet?” You heard Gabriel call out to you and your head snapped back at him, dark eyes meeting his brown ones. “Sorry, what were you talking about?” You quickly took a sip of your tea; it’s gone cold.

Huh. “You okay? When I called your name you didn’t even flinch.” He said in a worried tone as you half-heartedly waved a hand. “I’m alright. Just thinking about the mission.” That’s a good excuse. Here, pat yourself in the back.

Your Commander leaned close and casually propped his elbows on his knees, his eyes staring into his mug. “You worried?”

“Not really, though I am surprised you picked _me_ to go on a mission _with Morrison._ ”

“Glad you noticed. I thought you weren’t going to since this _is_ your punishment.” Your eyes widened as your torso quickly turned towards him, your tea spilling onto your pants.

“What the-- So that’s why!” You looked at him incredulously as Reyes let out a small grunt and fished out a handkerchief. He threw you the pale white cloth with an amused expression while you cleaned yourself up. “Yeah, thought you’d catch on quick back there in the office.”

“But...b-but Gabe... _sir_!”

“No buts.” He finally gave you a hard look and crossed his arms. “This phase or whatever it is needs to end _now_. You can’t keep pissing off your commanding officers left and right. Hell, even McCree knows when to shut up, and you’re the only one in Blackwatch besides me who’s got formal military training!” You grimaced.

Holy shit, he’s right. “Still…” You avoided looking at his annoyed expression. “I think I’d still make him mad.”

“Are you going to?” Gabriel raised one scarily dangerous brow and you quickly signed an x-motion with your arms. “N-no! Of course not..!” You exclaimed as he downed the rest of the tea with an approved grunt.

He settled the mug on your bedside table as he stood up. You wearily watched him grab two more animal crackers (an owl and a rabbit) from the box and popped them into his mouth. “By the way, you should visit R&D. The dwarf’s been briefed about the mission and he might have something for you to use.” He said as you nodded.

You didn’t expect this surprise visit from your Commander to be so damn tiring. “You packed up your clothes now?” ...Because he does sound like a damn parent.

You resisted rolling your eyes. “Not yet. No one’s gonna give a damn to some t-shirts and pants right?” That was a joke, but something about your words gave Gabriel pause.

“Don’t you have anything else?”

“Nah, I don’t really go out of the base that much.” And you don’t have any reason to.

Gabriel scratched his chin and looked at the time. “...I better go. If I’m away for too long, Gerard’s gonna get bored dealing with Petras alone.” You stood up as well to see him off, wet pants and all. “Good luck then, Gabriel.” You flashed him a small smile as he did the same to you.

* * *

Following his advice, you headed on towards Weapons R&D. It’s also unofficially known as Craftmaster Torbjorn’s workshop. You avoided going there, mostly because of the furnace’s sweltering heat that briefly reminds you of the dry climate of your country. “Knock, knock! You there, master?” You loudly called out from the doorway, wincing at that blast of familiar warmth coming from the room.

“Aye, who’s that hollering over there?” You immediately spotted the old man by the said furnace, his mustached face glancing at you as he worked on something. You grinned as you drew closer to him. You were always curious on how he does his craft.

You can see that he’s working on some familiar plating. “Is that supposed to be Genji’s?” You couldn’t resist saying as he grunted in reply. “Aye. Angela keeps on sending me plans on how to upgrade that cyborg’s armor. Couldn’t please that girl at all!” He grumbled as you examined the rough metal shape before letting out a low whistle. You always seem to noticed Genji getting an upgrade every now and then. Maybe his frequent visits to Angie’s isn’t just for romantic trysts at all.

“Think you can make me one too, someday?” Currently, you’re wearing the standard-issued armor; a bulletproof vest, protective shoulder pads, arm and leg guards. As you are in Blackwatch, your colors are black and red, though for personal reasons, you wore a black and red jacket over your uniform as well as a red outlined beret. It’s high collar and deep pockets made it look like you’re wearing a coat on your small frame.

The Swedish man finally looked at you, his trained eyes going over your face. “Oy, don’t I know you from somewhere?” He continued giving you that look, until his eyes widened. “Y-you!” He nearly screeched as you moved to plug your right ear in mock pain.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t ‘yeah’ me! You’re that Quiet brat! The one who broke her rifle to pieces!” He was clearly enraged as you tried to remember that certain memory.

“Er, which one?”

“T-there’s more than one?!”

A few minutes later, you managed to calm him down with the promise that you’ll try to remember which rifle you broke (you did the swear-your-heart-and-hope-you-die thing too) as you asked him for some equipment you can use. “Hm, you’re on assault right?” He did a once-over on your form, noting how you seem protected enough.

“Yep. It’s mostly a night op anyways, checking and patrolling the area for some unwanted nasties.”

He let out another grunt as he tapped his chin. He walked over to a box at the end of his work table, and began scavenging through its contents. “Have you ever tried using the issued visors? I don’t see you wearing one.” He said as you pondered over it.

You know Genji wears one, though you knew it’s just to hide his face. Maurice from last week’s operation used one as well. And then there’s Morrison, but as far as you know, it’s just Google glasses doing something right.

You let out a strangled coughed, trying not to laugh at your stupid joke. “This here’s something I developed back then. It’s designed for undercover night ops but I scrapped it since it’s such a bulky thing.” The crafter pulled out a peculiarly shaped visor. It was certainly bulky, but what he probably meant was that it just doesn’t cover up your eyes, but probably the whole lower half of your face as well.

He handed it to you as you inspected it closely. To think that this visor even has a mask makes you wonder what kind of ‘undercover’ mission Torbjorn was thinking. “Try it out with a weapon. A tactical visor is meant to be a tool for your shots to be much more accurate than before.” He said as he nudged his head towards a small practice range.

You slipped off the table and you placed it on. It smelled of dust and old people smell, but it was strangely comfortable. Despite the color red from the outside, you can clearly see through this thing. “Hmph, you’re looking quite formidable there, Quiet.” Torbjorn grinned as you gave him an uncertain thumbs up.

“This is weird…” You can hear your muffled voice, and you can somehow compare this thing to a gas mask.

You walked over to the practice range and took out your standard-issued sidearm. “The tactical visor activates when it senses you holding a ranged weapon. Once your eyes are trained on a target, a circle will appear on which area your shot’s going to go through.” He calmly explained as you let his words flow through your head. Immediately, you could definitely see that circle he was talking about; it was dead center on the bullseye.

You fired. The smoke from your Glock cleared as your eyes widened at the training bot. A perfect headshot. “Holy shit.” You muttered as the dwarf behind you let out a bark of laughter. “The technology’s already applied to all of the issued visors. I’m surprised you survived this long without it.” He nodded proudly as you rounded back at him, taking it off.

“This thing’s amazing! If we had this back in the army, we could’ve decimated those Omnics no problem!” You grinned as you waved the thing in excitement. “Though, if you’d allow me, master. Can I borrow this one? Those visors the Blues wear are cool and all, but this,” You eagerly waved it again. “And the mask? Pretty fucking cool if I may say so myself.”

Torbjorn huffed, his chest swelling with pride. “I suppose you like this so much that you start acting like the brat you are.” But then he smiled as well, showing off his teeth underneath his thick beard.

“Alright, you can have it.” Your smile was so wide you could’ve damn nearly hugged the man to death. “Let me tweak it a bit. Make sure it’s in tip top shape before your mission.” He said as you handed it back to him. You’re excited to test it out on the field, especially on tomorrow’s mission.

You stayed in his workshop for a little while longer, trying to get to know the man a little more out of genuine curiosity. Angela once told you how she’s on friendly terms with the Lindholms at the start of the Omnic crisis. Your mouth watered at the mention of his wife’s apple pie; something you’d like to try as well.

You brought him lunch from the mess hall, the dwarf stammering how you shouldn’t have in a mess of Swedish and English words while you insisted just for taking care of your equipment. Lieutenant Reinhardt came to visit him as well, and was mildly surprised to see you there as well.

“I’m sorry for coming across as cold to you, Quiet.” The German giant was looking forlorn and you immediately tried your best to cheer him up. It really wasn’t his fault; you know you don’t usually do the best first impressions.

Strike Commander Morrison would know this at heart.

“Let’s just put the past behind us, okay Lieutenant?” You gave him a nervous laugh as you watched him smile slightly at your optimism.

He accepted a sandwich from you; that’s a good sign of trust, right? “Well, then.” He finished the sandwich in one mouthful. Damn. “At the very least, you can start calling me Reinhardt!” He gave off a hearty, booming laugh while you felt a blush cover your features.

“N-no way, I can’t do that, you’re my superior officer, a-and..!”

“Now, now we’re all friends here, _klein maus._ ” He winked at you as your blush deepened.

What the hell, you thought as you looked away in an attempt to defuse the situation. This man is old enough to be your father! That didn’t stop your face from being so red, however.

Lunch ended with Torbjorn chasing the both of you out of his workshop, his excuse being “You’re both so damn loud!” And slammed the door shut at your faces. Reinhardt profusely apologized on his behalf, while gently asking if you’d like to train with him.

You politely declined, not that you have anything to do, but your face is still flushed from how much attention he’s giving you today. Damn it, chivalry is such a turn on--nope you did not just think it’s a turn on.

You went to the armory to borrow a duffel bag to place your stuff in. You began packing. One week in a foreign place would mean a ton of preparation. You checked on the weather for London tomorrow; it’s starting to get chilly in Switzerland, but then again, it has always been cold to you since leaving the Philippines.

Being a native of a tropical country, you cursed at your lack of winter wear. It’s not even winter, but you still feel cold even in base, hence the jacket. But Reyes had insisted on civilian clothing; maybe you’d be tailing Morrison from plain sight. You picked apart your clothes, settling on a denim jacket, longer and thicker pants, and an assortment of plain t-shirts. You tossed some underwear into a smaller bag, your toothbrush, some hair products and a pair of sneakers.

You leaned back from your dresser to check on your luggage. You still have some room for more, but you honestly don’t know what else to place. You could always pack in a first-aid kit, a soldier’s instinct, but you’re fairly certain they’re already provided by R&D. You thought about putting in food, like the occasional chips, but you dislike the idea of walking around London with goddamn _chips_ in your bag.

Your eyes wandered over your desk, spotting your book collection as well as the photograph. It was a picture of Captain Santos’s birthday. It was also coincidentally on Philippine Independence Day too (because why not for the man, you smiled at the thought). You remembered the army had to go through this boring, celebratory exercise to show-off to the General and the President how much of a good squad you are. You and Balao wanted to skip it so bad because you still didn’t know what present to give to your commanding officer.

The party was held outside of base, at a small _carinderia_ by the market. Sebastian and some guys from Squad Agila booked it for the night while the rest of you scrambled to give your hard-ass of a Captain a supposedly good night. Some got crates of rationed beer, others their own personalized gifts, but you and Balao were already tearing your hair apart looking for something your Captain would like.

This photo was taken the exact moment Captain Santos opened your gift. Some guy from the squad took it for you. The picture didn’t really capture it clearly, but you and Balao gave him a brand new, leather watch. _“Just to keep you from asking us the time, old man!”_ You could faintly hear Balao’s words echo in your head as you reminisced.

You were already gripping onto the photo as you tried to play out that memory exactly as you remembered it, like a film reel. Sebastian’s arm was around the captain’s shoulders, keeping him under a tight hug through his drunkenness. You and your best friend stood at either side of him, your hands making the most obnoxious poses and signs while pointing at your gift. You held back at choked laugh seeing how stupid yours and Balao’s faces are.

And there was Captain Santos, his smile the most heartwarming one of them all. You realized it now; Reinhardt had a similar smile as well. Maybe that’s why you’re reacting so strangely to him. Your fingers brushed over the photo one more time before settling it down, your other hand reaching for a random book to throw into your duffel bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some terminologies and translations:
> 
> Carinderia: A food stall with a small seating area, typically in a market or at a roadside.  
> Philippine Independence Day or Araw ng Kalayaan: June 12
> 
> Yes, Biggs and Wedge are from the Final Fantasy series. Scheherazade is from One Thousand and One Nights. And Sisa is from Noli Me Tángere. That's a lot of cameos and they'll only appear once.
> 
> Sorry if you seem to be saluting a lot! You are still technically a cadet, so you’re required to act respectful to someone who’s higher than your rank. The only exception to this rule is Angela as Head of Overwatch’s Medical, mainly because you’re older than her and she's your friend.
> 
> Speaking of ages, I’d like to remind you, dear reader, that you are already 21 years old. In the Philippine military, you are only allowed to enlist at 18 years old, and you enlisted when you dropped out of university. The civil war in your country ended when you were 20, and by the time you got into Blackwatch, Jesse’s already 17. I believed Angela’s around 17-18 when she first joined Overwatch, and going by the timeline, Jack, Gabe and Ana should be in their 30s now. I’m not too sure about their canon ages, but yes, you are only 21 years old.
> 
> Yes, you are technically wearing Soldier 76’s future mask and visor. That’s a pretty important bit, just to let ya know.
> 
> Cheers!


	5. Under A Starless Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were most familiar with this setting. That infectiously hopeful feeling a light would shine through those clouds and maybe you wouldn’t be so small and alone.
> 
> In which you and Jesse go on your mission to London. The day doesn't seem to be in your favor as you experience awkward girl talk and even more awkward talk underneath a starless night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ay. I'm not very happy with this chapter. I edited it so many times to the point that I just gave up and wait for your feedback. In other news, I'm happy that people are actually reading my shit!
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy.

“You look like shit.”

Jesse glared at you through bloodshot eyes. “Don’ test me, darlin’.” He only snarled through slurred words while you shrugged.

To think that Jesse would drink so much the night before a mission; you honestly applauded the fact that he’s still here, walking beside you on your way to the hangar. You woke up earlier, double-checking your stuff as well as grabbing a quick breakfast at the mess hall. You found your fellow Red slumped on one of the cafeteria tables, nursing a glass of water with his hat over his eyes.

When you arrived, you can see a small group of Blues huddled together in front of a drop ship called the Orca. Your sudden presence, that splash of black and red amidst the sea of blue, immediately drew you unwanted attention as they paused conversing among themselves to stare at you. You and Jesse, and the rest of Blackwatch actually, are so used to this kind of treatment that it would be unusual if they didn’t act so repulsive of your appearances.

It was unnerving at first, but you eventually just got used to it. You confidently kept your nose in the air and walked towards one of the supply boxes, dropping your duffel bag at your feet while Jesse leaned on the table, enjoying his cigar. You quickly noticed a familiar face amongst the sea of blue, “Morning, master Lindholm.” You greeted the Swedish dwarf, who looked up to you expectedly.

“Ah, if it isn’t the Quiet brat.” He snorted. He certainly seemed to be chipper this early in the morning. “I see you managed to get that cowboy moving. He’s been causing a ruckus back at the commissary last night, I hear.” He gestured to your companion, who crossed his arms and huffed.

“I was jus’ refilling my stash, what’s so wrong ‘bout that old timer?”

You and the Swede chuckled lightly. You can feel the stares coming from the Blue squad, boring into your heads as you tried your best to ignore them for now.  Sooner or later, you’re going to have to deal with them and _him_ and you want to savor every moment before that. “You two,” A voice sounded behind you.

Or maybe you spoke too soon.

“McCree, Quiet. What are you doing here?” You turned around to see Morrison marching towards you, in all his blue coat and glory. You noticed the crease on his forehead as Jesse beside you spoke up. “Mornin, sir. Had your breakfast already?” He said as you grinned mischievously. One of the few reasons you and Jesse get along so well was your apparent dislike for persons of authority with a stick up their asses.

 The Strike Commander chose to ignore his words. “As far as I know, I didn’t let any Blackwatch brats in _my_ ops today.” He spat as he crossed his arms. You tapped your chin in feign ignorance. “Funny you should say that, sir. I wasn’t aware that _you_ wouldn’t know of your...let’s say, extra security detail.” You enjoyed the glare he sent your way as Jesse smirked.

“You’re not coming with us.”

“That’s not your call, Jack.”

Behind you, you could hear a set of heavy footsteps. You didn’t need to look back to see that Gabriel had approached your group. “Oh, and why is that, Gabe?” Jack spoke through clenched teeth. The tension in the air thickened. You knew Commander Reyes and Morrison are the best of friends since their SEP days, but you also knew that they get into fights a lot more often. You figured it’s probably a guy thing, since you and Balao don’t punch each other’s faces whenever the both of you get into an argument.

Gabriel was also holding up a duffel bag; suddenly, you wondered if he’s going with you. “As Quiet said, just think of it as extra security. I thought about sending you a whole squad but that would be too much.” He said as he placed a hand on your shoulder. “These two are perfectly capable of helping you out--”

“Squad Echo’s already enough--”

“--as how _all_ Blackwatch agents do best.”

This halted Jack, who had to bite his tongue to do so. The gears in his head flew into motion as he quickly understood the implication. He gazed hard at your and McCree’s impassive faces, before letting out an annoyed sigh.

“Alright,” He turned around and started walking into the drop ship. “They stay out of our way if they know what’s good for them.” He probably meant you, but that’s a good thing. You won’t even talk or look at him if that’s what he wanted.

With the Strike Commander’s approval, you felt a certain weight lift off your shoulders. “You should’ve at least told him beforehand, Commander.” You loftily said as Reyes merely chuckled. “Maybe, but I wanted to see the look on his face when I get to say something right for a change.” His grin was infectious, and you can’t help but smile privately anyways.

With Morrison here, everyone and everything were all accounted for. The rest started loading the Orca with their luggage and supplies. Gabriel himself settled on picking up the ammunition boxes while shouting at McCree to help out. While they sorted out the equipment, you approached Torbjorn for yours. “Ah, Quiet. Thought you were going to leave empty-handed.” He huffed as you half-heartedly waved a hand.

“Can’t go on a mission without a weapon, right?”

The Swedish dwarf heaved a large, black case from below the table. You opened it up to see the standard-issued, heavy pulse rifle. “Don’t you dare break this.” He shot you a glare while you mockingly laughed. You certainly have no promises for that.

You lifted the weapon from the case, feeling the familiar heavy weight on your arms as you inspected it thoroughly. “And don’t forget this.” Torbjorn then handed you your masked visor.

“It’s a modified version.” He stated. “Temporary gas mask, night vision, a small tweak on the aimbot, the works.” The both of you chuckled at the last part. A surge of excitement swelled in your chest as you accepted it gratefully.

“ _Salamat._ ” You said as the other nodded. He knew enough to know the many words of thanks the other agents spoke to him. Yours wasn’t any different.

Jesse’s head popped over your shoulder, letting out a low whistle of admiration as he gazed at the masked visor. “Damn, how come I didn’t get any of that?” He looked at you both accusingly as you sighed.

“You kidding? Out of everyone else in this place, you’re almost _always_ the better shot.” You strapped your rifle and the mask back in the case. You wouldn’t be caught dead lugging this thing around in plain sight. The mask was supposed to hide your identity, after all.

The familiar click of heels, however, brought your attention to Angela, who just arrived and was dressed in her usual turtleneck, slacks, and doctor’s coat, two white satchels in hand. “Ah, good, you’re still here.” She nodded her head in approval as she handed you one of the satchels.

They were slightly heavy than you thought. “Should be enough for a week in case something happens.” You peeked inside to find bandages and the like; a perfectly combined first-aid-kit. “Thanks Angie.” You breathed out a sigh of relief, glad that she’s looking out for you.

“You remember your basic first-aid?”

“Of course,” You tapped the side of your head with a knowing grin. “I only learned from the best.” And you meant her and Sebastian.

Angela nodded, her professionally-tied ponytail bobbed behind her. “Take care of yourself out there, you hear me? You and Jesse. But most importantly,” She offered you a dazzling smile as she gave you a hug, capable of lifting your spirits up in the morning. “Have fun at London.”

* * *

As the drop ship left the hangar, the tall Blackwatch commander looked at Angela, sporting a grin on his sly mug. “You think she noticed?” He cooed as the blonde flipped a stray lock away from her face, her sparkling sapphire orbs positively shining.

“I don’t think so.”

* * *

On the Orca, you and Jesse were briefed with the Blue squad. As always, introductions were in order. “Captain Jane Rogers, of Squad Echo.” The woman before you shook hands with you, and you could’ve sworn she could pose as Angela’s sister or doppleganger; with the same shade of blonde hair tied into a long ponytail and friendly blue eyes.

She was a tall, good-looking lady, that Jesse’s absolutely smitten. After stating your name and callsign, the cowboy sauntered up to her, batting your hand away and reaching for hers. “Name’s McCree, Jesse McCree. Am I pleased to meet such beautiful buttercup at this day and age.” He said with a wink as he smoothly kissed her wrist. You could hear Morrison groaning behind her and you can’t help but do the same as well.

Captain Rogers (hah) merely rolled her eyes and withdrew her hand from the cowboy. “Charmed, Agent McCree.”

The rest of Squad Echo seemed friendly enough, as opposed to your first impression of them. You were acquainted with their demolitions expert, a silent and reclusive young man by the name of Irvid Picasso. “I make art.” He simply said as you deadpanned; no doubt he’s talking about bombs and all sorts of explosives.

There was their combat medic, Zoel Winters, who looked even younger than Angela. She had brilliant platinum blonde hair that cascaded down her shoulders and cold grey eyes. There’s also the assault men: Siegfried Oz, Leighton Freed and Geralt Langley, all of them, you assumed, to be great friends. “Agent Quiet of Blackwatch, huh?” Freed said out loud, his beady eyes sizing you up.

You stilled your tongue; you’re not about to insult your newly met comrades. Not in front of their captain and Morrison, no less. “I guess I’m famous, then.” You allowed a tight smile to grace your features.

You and Jesse stood behind the squad, listening to Captain Rogers’ briefing. Squad Echo’s mission, as you expected, was to guard Morrison at all times. For this particular week, he’ll be required to go through all of the UN sanctioned meetings, including breakfast, lunch and dinner with the delegates. There would be speeches, celebratory picture-takings and all of that annoying bullshit you remembered while serving your time in the army.

You and McCree will be sharing a room with them in the same hotel Morrison is staying. You will be allowed one full day of rest, presumably sometime at the end of the week where everyone else is too tired or bored of going to the same breakfast dates.

You leaned onto your seat. This is probably going to be quite a stressful week, but not so much for the Strike Commander himself. You wondered how he was able to do it, wearing that million dollar smile for the cameras while yapping about Overwatch’s mission for peace. He still had to make time for the organization’s publicity, as well as doing his job fighting on the front lines.

You slightly shifted your eyes from Roger’s, already bored of the briefing. As much as you hate to admit it, you kind of _admired_ the way Morrison does these things. You’re quite sure, on days where he isn’t lecturing you on your fighting style or mocking your poor penmanship, he’s at his office, making the tough calls, or at the command center, leading his troops with his stern voice. He and Gabriel lead differently, but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. You could slightly understand why some people thought you’re crazy for going toe-to-toe with the Strike Commander.

You rubbed your shoulders in an attempt to stave off the boredom. Beside you, McCree tried his best to look attentive, but you knew it’s all for show to win Rogers’ approval. You figured the woman would be too busy thinking of the mission before engaging into any sexual relations with your coworkers. Besides, you smirked when you noticed that _look_ she gave to Morrison, you know he’s already losing an unknown battle.

You were, however, completely oblivious to the fact that somebody else is giving you that _look._

“So,” You heard Captain Rogers’ raised voice, shaking you from your trance. “What is Blackwatch up to this time?” You could hear that amused tone in her voice, but you and McCree knew better. The amount of distrust was acceptable in this case; you came in unannounced after all.

Your fellow Red nodded at you to take point. “We’ll be under your command, ma’am.” You began steadily. “Use us as you see fit.”

“Oh, I will.” Captain Rogers stated with a groan, her fingers holding the bridge of her nose. “Though I really don’t understand Reyes’s reasoning for this. We’re already a full squad; five assaultmen is quite excessive.” Beside her, you noticed Morrison pause and look up from his holopad.

Jesse heartily laughed at her words. “Don’t think too much on it, sugarpie. The boss was just bein’ paranoid.” You tried to go along with it, if not for that weird sense dread filling your stomach.

There’s a reason why Blackwatch was such a secret that Overwatch would go through such lengths to protect it, even against its own agents. Morrison already knew why you and McCree are here. The apparent face of Overwatch _should_ if he’s still alive this far. A universal force of good cannot fight the bad guys without becoming one as well. That was something you were forced to consider early on, even before enlisting in the army.

 And as someone who’s tried to fight with words rather than with actions, you would know most especially how important it is to do the dirty work just for the morally good to shine through. Is this what they call the chaos theory? You’re not sure. It’s been a while since you opened a textbook.

You had an hour to spare before landing at your destination. After Rogers’ briefing, the squad, you, Jesse and Morrison went your separate ways. The cowboy took this moment to cozy up to the captain, while the rest of Squad Echo kept to themselves. You can see that Freed and Langley tried to flirt with Winters, who happily deflected their advances. Oz fell asleep on his seat while Picasso pulled up a book--Juan Rulfo’s ‘Pedro Paramo’, what a surprise.

You merely sat back on your seat, gazing out the window. You’d also take up your book from your bag, but you don’t really feel like reading right now. Your mission weighs heavily on your mind. You’re not bothered by it, but something tells you if you were three years younger and naive of the world, you’d be sickened.

You’re desperate for something to occupy your thoughts. That moment of reality slipping through your fingers was too much for you to handle right now. That’s why you didn’t find yourself holding back upon striking a conversation with the one man you didn’t want to have anything to do with.

“Have you been to London, sir?” You found Morrison by the cockpit area, idly looking out the glass ceiling without bothering Ray, the pilot. He looked absolutely stunned you started talking to him, wondering if you made a mistake and was actually addressing Ray. “...Yeah.” He finally answered, looking away from you. “Been a while since my last visit.”

Your gaze followed his, looking up at the sky zooming past. It was colored a pretty pink, the sun steadily rising from the horizon. “...It’ll be my first time.” You simply said, noting the cotton candy-like clouds. He glanced your way, wanting to say something else.

“There’s nothing much to see.” He replied after a while. “Maybe Buckingham Palace or the Thames, but it’s always raining there.”

“That sounds nice.”

“What, the rain?” You cannot tell whether he was being sarcastic or not.

You shrugged anyways, opting to keep quiet about it this time.

* * *

An hour later, you arrive in London.

The blond was right, it was pouring outside. It was already seven in the morning, and yet the tarmac of the airport was littered with black umbrellas and raincoats, their cameras flashing and journalists hastily reporting the events on their recorders. You drew the high collar of your jacket close and flattened the beret on your head. Jesse had lowered his hat, effectively shielding his eyes.

You’ve already changed into your disguises. As simple as an Overwatch uniform can be for a cover, you’ve deduced that at least the enemy wouldn’t recognize the presence of Blackwatch among your numbers.

Still, you thought to yourself as you tugged on the sleeve of your uniform, wearing the Overwatch uniform makes you feel significantly out of place. Maybe not so much for you, but you thought Jesse looked ridiculous in their colors. Too bright and flashy, though it did make him look younger. The problem was, he refused to take off his stupid hat, and you and even some guys from Squad Echo gave up wrestling it off his matted brown hair.

You and Jesse stood behind Squad Echo as Morrison was bombarded with camera flashes and microphones thrusted towards him. Oz and Rogers were in front, shielding him from their rampage.

“Here is Jack Morrison in the flesh--”

“Jack! Look over here!”

“The first and youngest leader of a worldwide organization--”

“Smile to the camera now, Mr. Morrison!”

“--to celebrate the anniversary of the peace accords--”

“Strike Commander Morrison! Over here please!”

You snorted under your breath. You wondered if they’re really here for Overwatch, or if they just want to snap a picture of its charismatic leader. You watched Jack put up his famous smile, showing off pearly white teeth as he addressed some of the press’ wishes and concerns.

“Will it just be you attending the celebrations, Jack?” An overexcited reporter apparently jabbed his phone too close to the blond, in which Oz made it a point to swat it away his meaty hand.

“Yes, it will just be me and my entourage here. Captain Amari is away on official Overwatch business and will unfortunately be unavailable for the rest of the week.”

You got to give it Morrison. Even amongst the pressure of the press he’s still handling things quite smoothly. It’s almost scary how he can switch personalities so easily if he’s this much of a sweet talker to the general public, and an arrogant prick on the other.

Langley pulled up the limousine before you, as Rogers and the rest of Squad Echo ushered Morrison to it, deflecting the paparazzi's further questions and camera flashes. “You’re not going with us?” Winters had stopped for a moment to address you, in which you merely shook your head.

“Go on ahead. We’ll take care of the luggage.” As well as securing the area of the hotel you’re staying, you reminded yourself.

Rogers had so kindly (and annoyingly, you added) lent you Picasso to help with the luggage. You and Jesse exchanged a knowing look. It’s better to at least go along with it, or else you’d raise unwanted suspicion. He got you a truck the airport was kind enough to lend, and even Ray the pilot helped you undercover Reds place the luggage in. There wasn’t much, but most of your equipment is heavy enough, and is liable to pass through airport security.

“Overwatch business. We’re part of the Strike Commander’s security detail.” You handed your ID to one of the guards that asked for identification, as well as the innumerable amount of military contraband you have with you.

The trip to the hotel was silent. Picasso had taken the wheel, being the only one taller than you and had a license unlike Jesse. You and the cowboy squeezed onto the passenger’s seat, a map of London on your lap while the latter decided to sleep on the way. You tried so hard pushing him the map duty because, _what the hell_.

You wanted so badly to go out and sight-see. Even with this rain, you’re confident you can run through the streets of King’s Row with just your jacket and beret. You couldn’t stop staring at the houses as you drove by; they all look exactly as you pictured London to be from all your Potter books.

“Agent Quiet?” Picasso’s voice shook you from your thoughts.

“Ah, right. Sorry.” You buried your nose into the map, checking each street sign you came across. “Take a left here, and--oh! There it is.”

You learned that the aging King George had personally invited Morrison to Buckingham Palace for the duration of his stay for the peace accords anniversary. After hearing this the UN, however, forced him to ‘politely’ decline the King’s invitation, and stay at one of the fanciest hotels you’ve ever laid eyes upon. “So this is the Lanesborough.”

The massive white structure briefly reminded you of the White House. It’s a pristine looking thing, and McCree couldn’t help but gape at it.

“We’re staying _here_?!” He exclaimed as you nodded and checked the map again to confirm the place.

“Damn, I’m glad I took the boss up on that offer.” McCree whistled and beside him, Picasso raised a questionable brow.

After showing the hotel staff your IDs, you unloaded your luggage into your respective rooms. Of course, Morrison’s got his own suite, a fancy, over-the-top decorated room that it’s something’s straight out of a Keira Knightley movie. You’re sharing a room with Rogers and Winters, while McCree stays with the rest of Squad Echo. “Don’t forget to make yourself some friends out there, Jesse.” You teased the cowboy, who only flipped you the bird.

You dumped your duffel bag on the lush carpet of your designated quarters. Even for the three of you, this room is gigantic. It was divided into two, a sofa area with a roaring fireplace, snack bar, and a Holo TV. The main bedroom had two queen sized beds with the most luxurious feeling feathered pillows and blankets. You reluctantly restrained yourself from crashing into one of them and inhale that scent of those freshly cleaned sheets. You know you’re taking the couch anyways; the two lady Blues get to have the beds.

You checked the time. Rogers had notified Picasso that they have arrived at the Westminster, and Morrison’s already having his breakfast meeting with several UN delegates who were early enough to meet with him. At the mention of breakfast, your stomach growled. You already had some food to yourself, but you knew one bowl of oatmeal isn’t going to cut it.

You debated raiding the room’s snack bar before Rogers and co. came back, when the door to your room slammed open. “Quiet!” Jesse’s urgent voice caused you to drop whatever you’re doing and stand at attention, hand reaching for your sidearm.

Alarm bells rang in your mind. Have they finally revealed themselves? Were your covers blown? _~~Is Morrison alright?~~_

“They’ve got chocolate!” The cowboy ran to you with his arms full of complimentary chocolate bars. Behind him, Picasso leaned on your doorway, rendering a passive look on his face that seemed to hint an amused smirk.

Your hand dropped to your side, a thin line pressed to your lips. “Jesse,” You quietly muttered as you slowly made way to your fellow Red.

“They’ve got the largest Hershey’s I’ve ever seen! Anything this big back in Santa Fe was-- _SMACK--_ ouch!”

* * *

The rest of the day was uneventful.

You mostly stayed in your room, working on setting up the security perimeter with a laptop R&D provided while Jesse stalked Morrison from the shadows. Picasso went back to help with Echo’s security detail. He mentioned, briefly, how he’ll bring you back a souvenir from the conference, though you have no idea what he’d even bring you in the first place.

Nothing much happened. Jesse would sometimes ring you up on your comm to apologize for the false alarm earlier in the morning, and you’d respond back saying you’d eat one chocolate bar for every time he called you ‘darlin’ without properly apologizing to you in person first. This seemed to shut him up, as he wanted to bring those bars back home to base.

It didn’t stop raining the whole day. Morrison and Squad Echo wouldn’t be back until later on in the evening. You had fixed yourself some hot chocolate from the room’s kitchenette while attentively listening in on your operator, who’s currently hacking into the hotel’s security cameras.

Your operator’s name, as you learned through the brief conversations you had with him through your communicator, was Dave Del Rosario, a fellow man of your own country. He’s one of two operators in charge of this mission, the other Blackwatch red in an otherwise three-man job. “Opened up two more cameras along Knightsbridge. That okay with you, Quiet?” He has a thick English accent that you find it quite soothing to listen to.

Probably why he became an operator anyways. “That’s more than enough. _Salamat,_ Dave.” You thanked him as you sipped your hot chocolate. You took it upon yourself to call all of your fellow Reds by their first names, as opposed to calling the Blues by their lasts. It’s how you’re able to distinguish them, after all. Gabriel allowed you to call him by his first whenever you’re alone, and given your strained relationship with the blond, you just can’t find it in yourself to call the Strike Commander by anything _but_ his other name.

Things were starting to bore you around mid-afternoon. Looking in on the cameras was fun and all, but you’re starting to get sick of seeing Morrison’s picture perfect smile or Jesse flipping you off every single time you check up on him. You remembered you brought a book with you, you didn’t actually take note of the title, but you do remember putting it in your duffel bag.

You lifted your bag from the carpeted floor and settled it on the coffee table, beside your laptop and mug of not-so-hot chocolate anymore. You zipped it open; you probably got Sherlock Holmes or Shakespeare to honor...the...occasion..?

You blankly stared into the contents. Bright colors, blouses, scarves, and--is that a _skirt?_ Your brows furrowed as you looked around. You most obviously did not pack this. Did you somehow grab Winters’ stuff and mistook it as yours? No, you’re fairly sure you dropped their gear off their respective beds. You’ve been hanging onto this duffel bag _since you entered the drop ship_ this morning.

 _This morning._ You remembered Commander Reyes had a separate duffel bag. You remembered how he also kneeled beside your _own_ duffel bag when he started moving the supplies into the drop ship.

The realization dawned upon you as your fingers deftly moved across your laptop. “Hey there, Quiet. Need something?” Dave inquired as you tried to steady your voice.

“Yeah. Dave, get Commander Reyes on the line, would you?”

“Huh, okay. Something happened?” You tried your very best to keep your voice sugary and sweet.

"It’s...not that important. Just some personal queries.” You can hear how high-pitched you sounded, but it’s all you can do to hide that _murderous_ undertone you always save for things you like and despise.

The line was silent, until it crackled back again. “Commander Reyes here. What’s your status, agent?” You can’t tell whether he sounded serious or not, but you know Gabe well enough in the past year that he’s positively _smirking_ over the Swiss base right now.

“Hi, Gabriel.” You started with a sing-song voice. “I’m looking through my bag right now and I seem to be missing a few articles of clothing necessary for the mission. Care to explain some of that, sir?”

“Huh, I don’t know about that, agent.” From the other line, you could tell that Gabe is enjoying this. “I _did_ tell you to bring some civilian clothes.”

“Ah, yes. About that. You failed to tell me that you _switched_ my stuff earlier at the hangar, though.”

“Oh? And what makes you think _I_ switched your stuff, Quiet?” You nearly wanted to throw your mug across the room.

“What the hell, Commander?!” You finally lost it, your words shifting into your native language in rapid fire. “ _Putangina, naintindihan ko yung_ ‘civilian clothing’ _pero bakit mo pinalitan yung damit ko?!_ ” You damn near screamed into your comm if not for the fact that you’re in a different country and that you‘re still undercover.

You could hear his muffled words in the background. “What the hell is she saying?” He’s probably asking Dave for a translation.

“Uh, she basically just asked, ‘Why did you change her clothes’ and...something along those lines.”

“I heard _puta_ in there. Is she cursing me?”

“...Um.”

“Jesus, Gabe.” You drew his attention back as you rubbed your temples. “Why, just why?”

“Come on, kid.” There it is, that tone you’d hear whenever you call out someone on their bullshit and they start coming clean. “I’m just looking out for you. Who in their right mind would go to fashion capital in a t-shirt and pants?” He said as you sighed audibly.

“Gee, Gabriel. I didn’t peg you to be a fashion specialist.” You snarled as you started going through the duffel bag again. “Why didn’t you do the same for Jesse, huh?”

“McCree is fine. As long as he gets rid of that stupid hat, he looks normal. You, on the other hand,” You grumbled as you came across _another_ skirt. “Need to dress yourself up more. Especially there! Didn’t you say you wanted to go sightseeing? I ain’t letting any of my agents under _my_ jurisdiction to walk around London, or anywhere else in the world, in a goddamn plain t-shirt and pants.”

You stared, in horror, at the next article of clothing you set eyes upon. “What the-- _lingerie_?!” You screeched, picking up the unmistakable white lace.

There was a loud crash coming from the other end of the comm, and your commander’s voice came back, albeit quietly. “Ah--yeah. That one’s on Angela.”

“Angie’s in on this too?!” You roared.

“What else am I supposed to do?!” You heard him sputter. “Besides, did you want me to rifle through your underwear?”

“You wouldn’t have to if you didn’t do this shit in the first place!”

“Oh, Quiet, I think you’re breaking up over there.” You then heard him mutter to your operator. “--Cut the line. Anyways, agent. Good job and stay safe out there!”

“Gabriel! When I get back I’m going to--” The line was dead. A frustrated sigh escaped your lips as you threw the white lace back into the bag. You downed the rest of your drink in one gulp and slammed it down on the coffee table.

You’re going to kill him. It will be swift and easy. You’ll creep up on him in the dead of the night, tie him into a sack, and ship him off to the Caribbean. Insubordination be damned.

You then spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking the duffel bag onto the sofa set, muttering native curses under your breath while keeping an eye on Morrison’s entourage.

* * *

“He did what?!” Jesse nearly choked on his meal laughing as you glared at him.

“It ain’t fuckin’ funny, Jesse.” You stabbed at your potato slices with your fork. “I was this close to grabbing a plane ride back to base and strangling his neck.”

It was already dinner time. Morrison and Squad Echo returned about half an hour ago, exhausted from today’s events. “You all did great today, rest up for tomorrow.” The blond didn’t let exhaustion get to his face, but you could definitely see his sluggish movements that tell otherwise.

You’re in the guys room, having dinner with your fellow Red. Squad Echo was awarded with a lavish dinner from Westminster for their hard work today. Your mouth unceremoniously drooled as Winters happily recounted every single British dish she tried out while you picked at the microwaveable meal Jesse heated up for the two of you.

You took a bite of your reheated peas; at least it’s warm. “I honestly don’t understand why he’d do this. The most he’s done something kind for me was…” You took a moment to recount any kind of action Gabriel did for you out of the goodness of his...heart? “Taking me to Blackwatch.” You spat as you stabbed your potatoes again.

Winters settled her drink down on the table, a knowing look in her eyes. “It can’t be that bad.” She said, reassuringly. “Do you not like his choice of clothing?”

You sighed. “As you said, they’re...really not that bad. I’m not against skirts or dresses in general, but it’s been a while. Last time I wore something that girly was in college.” And you didn’t even wear that many skirts at all when you were a student either. You were too stressed and tired to care about your appearance, that you only opted to wear sweatpants and a hoodie on those days.

And sometimes you don’t even shower. Ugh, disgusting. “Well, I’m looking forward to it.” Jesse said as he grinned at you. “You don’t even get out of base that much. Maybe the boss is worried you’d grow old without a hubby to take care of your spunky ass.” He laughed, then dodged out of the way when you tried to catapult your peas at him using your spoon.

The fact that Gabriel is worried you won’t get a partner because of your irregular clothing habits brings a flush of red to your cheeks. You don’t know whether to be grateful or not that he’s looking out for you, but this seriously crosses the line. This was something even your own mother would do!

It also doesn’t help that she kept badgering you to get married already.

Damn Gabriel and his dad instincts! “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind once this mission’s done and over with.” You muttered darkly as you finished your meal in several mouthfuls. “I don’t even have my book with me. I’m going to get bored easily in this place.”

“If you want,” Picasso suddenly spoke up. “You can borrow my book.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ve already read Pedro Paramo. I never did get magic realism, but it’s a good book if a bit creepy.” You said as the Spanish man smiled slightly at you.

“I know what to do,” Jesse started as he leaned back on his chair, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “On nights like these, it’s time to bring out the deck.” And out popped a deck of cards from his hand. You rolled your eyes as Oz leaned closer, suddenly interested.

“I’m game for one round of blackjack.” His deep voice pierced the air as the cowboy chuckled in a sinister manner. “You’re looking at one of the best card players in Santa Fe, big guy. But you’re on.” He licked his lips as you groaned inwardly. Jesse isn’t even a good player; he’s a big fat cheater and a very good one at that.

You would know, after hours of strip poker, as you were the only one left in your underwear. When Gabriel found out, he made very sure to give the both of you a loud lecture, after throwing you a blanket of course.

You and Winters decided to turn in for the night, before the cowboy dragged you into a pitiful hell of bribery and bankruptcy. Fortunately, it doesn’t look like Oz was the type to be ridiculed with so easily. The same cannot be said for Freed and Langley however, but you won’t assume that far.

When you came back to your room, Captain Rogers was about to go take her bath. “Evening, ma’am.” You saluted her out of respect as the latter nodded tiredly at you.

“Had dinner already?” She asked as you bobbed your head in affirmation. “Good, I’m sorry we didn’t get you anything outside. I thought for sure you’d be given dinner as well.”

“Not a problem, ma’am. Besides, it’d be suspicious if you decided to get leftovers for us.” You said as Rogers pondered on the thought. “You’re right, Quiet.” She offered you a smile before turning towards the bathroom.

It was still too early to turn in, and you weren’t sleepy just yet. Unfortunately for you, Winters seemed to be in the mood for that dreaded girl talk you were trying to avoid for so long. She was sitting on the sofa area, fiddling with the Holo TV’s channels with feigning interest.

You decided to fix yourself some tea anyways. You can’t escape the mighty clutches of girl talk, after all. “Hey, Quiet.” There it is.

“Hm?” You were debating on getting either earl gray or chamomile. You haven’t tried chamomile yet, sounds fancy. “Are you and Jesse..?”

Oh hell no. “No.” You didn’t even have to look at her.

“Ah, alright.” You could hear Winters releasing a breath of relief. “I thought, you know, since you guys were so close and all.” You finally returned to your fellow Blue with a tray of piping hot tea. You even made enough to include Rogers, though you weren’t sure she’d also join your nightly conversations.

You noted the blush coming from Winters’ pale face and suddenly you understood. “Really?” You began with a creased brow. “You _like_ the guy?”

“Because he’s so charming!” The young woman’s blush deepened as she accepted the mug of tea from you. “He’s so suave and cute, and despite him being so flirty he’s an actual gentleman.” She was swooning as you stared at her incredulously.

Jesse McCree, a gentleman? The world is crazy.

You’re too surprised to even form corrigible words. “You know he’s aiming for Captain Rogers, right?” You said carefully, watching Winters’ expression pout.

You got to admit; she’s adorable. “But the captain’s head over heels for the commander!” She whined in defense and for some reason, it made you pause, before returning to your tea.

“How about you, Quiet? Do you have someone in mind?” And to add insult to injury, she turns the question to you. You sat back on your seat, taking your time to form an acceptable answer. “...Hm, I don’t think anyone’s caught my eye yet.” You said as you gulped your tea; you didn’t mind that it burned the roof of your mouth.

In truth, people did catch your eye sometimes. You’ve had your fair share of dates back in college. You were just too busy familiarizing yourself with the Romantic poets to be romantic with anyone in general.

You also didn’t have the time when you enlisted in the army. Though, you can say for certain that Balao was there on that list. He only got taken down from it the moment you learned he has a girlfriend. Heartbroken, it only seemed to strengthen your friendship with him with how he joked about you being his best man for his wedding. You decided that it was fine you’d stay friends with him.

You also fell for Angela one time. The brilliant, beautiful doctor with a heart of gold; anyone would bend over backwards for her, honestly. But then your feelings subsided when she too only regarded you as a friend, and you respected her wishes. It was also around that time she met Genji, and you knew she was smitten.

And then your thoughts flitted towards your very own Blackwatch commander. The typical tall, dark, and ruggedly handsome archetype, Gabriel has been there for you since the beginning of the unit. If only you were better behaved, you could’ve been promoted as his right-hand man, er, woman. He looks after you and you did your best to return the favor. You did imagine what it could’ve been like if you start catching feelings for your superior officer, but then again, you’re quite sure Gabriel only sees you as his subordinate, nothing more. Maybe you were brat-zoned, but that suddenly sounds depressing if you’re on the same wavelength as Jesse.

The cowboy? No, you’d rather be caught dead dating someone who’s already acting like your long lost brother. The cyborg ninja? Angela’s. Reinhardt? Too old; old enough to be your father. Master Torbjorn? Again, too old, and as far as you can remember, he’s already married.

You chuckled into your drink. It would be funny if you started dating any of your fellow Blues, like Picasso or Winters, or even your operator Dave with his smooth English accent. You bet Gabe would flip a table and gush at how you’re growing up; like the father he’s likening himself to be. “How about Commander Morrison, Quiet?”

You choked on your tea. Winters sat up, alarmed, but you put up a hand to signal her you’re fine. _Punyeta._ “W-why Morrison?” You sputtered, and you weren’t so sure if it’s embarrassment or the tea going up your nose that’s making your face so red.

Winters was kind enough to give you the box of tissues to clean up the mess you just made. “I-I don’t know. I mean, I’ve only just met you today, but you seem to be acquainted with him?” She confessed and you jammed a tissue up your nostril.

“Er, do you not like him?”

“Ha, he’s the one who has problems with me.” You only shrugged, your lungs calming down. “I really don’t know why, but he hates me.” You settled the now empty mug on the coffee table as Winters made an effort to be interested in your story.

“You aren’t exaggerating, right?”

“No, you don’t get it, Winters.” You sighed as you leaned back on the sofa. “Ever since I got into Blackwatch, Morrison hates me. He’s made it clear how I always seem to annoy him with my very existence.”

“Why is that? Did you do something wrong?” She questioned.

“That’s the thing, I don’t understand _why_. Maybe I was reckless out in the field, or sometimes I’d ignore orders from the higher ups. But then again, I didn’t try to find out. I’ve only just seemed to make things worse by opposing him back.”

Besides, it’s not like it bothers you. Morrison could hate you for the rest of your sorry life and you wouldn’t even bat an eye. So why did Winters’ remark echo in your mind like a broken record player?

What about Jack Morrison? You were too perplexed to form a straightforward answer. The moment you entered Blackwatch he made your life a living hell. He’s a prick, a legitimate asshole who’d mock you in the training grounds and took great pleasure in putting in extra work for you to do.

But no matter how much he gave you shit, not once did he actively try to find you and curse your existence. He didn’t try to spread rumors behind your back or physically hurt you, unlike some people you came to know. He just looked down on you whenever you did a mistake, and this only seemed to escalate when you started fighting back.

A side comment here, a dirty joke there. That’s how you fought back against his verbal abuse, and because of that he relinquished himself on you thoroughly. Why, he even insulted your beret! That’s something you’ll never forgive of him so easily.

You and Winters fell into this comfortable silence you knew by heart. The two of you spent the rest of the night watching TV and occasionally striking a few conversations here and there. After a while, the combat medic bade you good night and you thought it’s best to turn in as well.

At the very least, you thought you should. You’re just not sleepy yet.

You had changed into a pair of shorts and the only t-shirt you had available in your bag. You mentally thanked Gabriel for having the decency to pack you some sleepwear. Or maybe it was Angela, you can’t tell who’s who at this point.

You debated visiting Jesse and the Echo boys, but it’s already so late in the evening. You also didn’t want to bother Captain Rogers nor Winters; they do have to wake up early tomorrow. So you put on your jacket and went out the balcony. The rain had stopped sometime before the sun had set, but it was a cloudy night. The sky still had signs of another shower and you wondered if the next evening’s going to be another starless night.

“Can’t sleep?”

You almost tripped on your feet. Turning to the source, your eyes widening at the sight of Jack Morrison on the balcony beside yours, a glass of scotch in hand and dark blue eyes boring into your own.

You looked at him in utter disbelief. Is this karma, for doing all the wrong deeds you’ve done, catching up to you? If so, you’d believe in any god at any time now. “I’m stuck on the couch.” You lamely said, but it’s the only reason you can think of besides coming out to stargaze, and that sounded even lamer than you thought.

He was wearing a tight-fitting black shirt that accentuated his muscles even more, and you can’t help but look away, as if it’s the sun you’re staring at. “Well, don’t stay up too late. I don’t want to hear any of my agents falling asleep while on duty.” He said and you tensed. You almost wanted to retort back, say something along the lines of ‘I’m not your agent’ but something held you back.

“I will,” You muttered. “You should be sleeping too, sir. Heard you had a long day.”

He grunted in reply as you watched him swirl his drink. ‘Typical,’ you thought, as you gazed at the sky again. Those clouds were ominous-looking. You hoped at least, you’d get to see a light rain shower tomorrow morning. That way, you’d see London in half of its glory.

It occured to you then, how familiar this setting was. That infectiously hopeful feeling of seeing a light shine through those clouds, be it the blinking red lights of a passing airplane or the warm glow of fireflies occasionally sticking to the shrubs around you.

You also spent a starless night with your crew. That was the first night you deserted the army. You were so afraid they’d catch you in your sleep, that when you woke up it would be to the sounds of screams and gunshots in the air. You definitely couldn’t sleep, and at the same time, Captain Santos was also up, sharing your solemn sentiments.

At present, it was so strange to see that familiar scene playing right before your very eyes. Morrison had also kept his gaze at the sky, the both of you not seeing anything of delight in an otherwise boring, blank slate. Of course the both of you weren’t here just to look at nothing; you’re both awake to calm the storm in your heads, to keep them at bay while you desperately wait for tomorrow.

You find yourself wanting to know about Morrison’s thoughts. On what’s keeping him awake while on the balcony with a glass of scotch in hand. “Sir?” You began, quietly, but you paused.

Your mind wandered back to your conversation with Winters. You never did question his obvious distaste for you; you only assumed he hated your guts. But that doesn’t seem to be the only reason, right? “What is it?” Morrison had finally looked at you, his electric blue eyes meeting yours once again.

“Uh,” You dropped your gaze, suddenly feeling smaller than usual. What’s wrong with you? “Nothing. Good night, sir.” You quickly babbled before stalking back to your room. You were too embarrassed to hear him call out your name as you closed the balcony doors shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some translations and terminologies:
> 
> Punyeta: Philippine profanity. I honestly don't know what it means, though I do use it alot when I'm lazy to utter the other, equally dirty word that goes along the lines of 'put tank in a mall'.
> 
> Ugh, this chapter. It's not the best, and hopefully it's the last of its kind. Hope you still enjoyed and it didn't turn you off from reading future chapters.
> 
> It's 1:50 AM in the Philippines. I'm sleepy.
> 
> Cheers!


	6. The Things You Like And Despise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee, tea, betrayal and Morrison. Not necessarily in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY I KNOW HOW TO INDENT. Sorry if this was long overdue; had to write four major papers in the span of 4 days and the rest were spent on research.
> 
> You guys keep saying you like my writing style and there's my professor saying 'stop that don't do that get some help' and I'm here conflicted (T_T). I'm just happy that people are still reading my stories though.
> 
> Enjoy!

****“Aren’t you two cold?”

“Jacket’s enough. Cowboy here has his stupid poncho.”

“For cryin’ out loud it’s ain’t a poncho!”

“For christ’s sake, Jesse.” You winced as you adjusted the volume of your earpiece. “What the hell happened to keeping a low profile?” Dave chimed in as you almost wanted to nod right there and then.

But then again, you don’t want to look stupid, seeing as you’re all alone on top of some random English rooftop, your fingers almost freezing cold if not for your extra gloves and a hand warmer stuffed inside your pockets. Your pulse rifle was kept on a sling by your shoulder, like some deadly purse, while you surveyed the area with a hawk’s peripheral thanks to your new visor.

Wait, you _do_ look ridiculous right now. You’d imagine those who were able to witness you see a tiny midget in all black with a weird ass mask, jumping from rooftop to rooftop while armed with a heavy pulse rifle that’s bigger than you. It’d make quite the story.

It was exactly midnight in King’s Row, almost two days since that encounter with a certain blond. You had avoided Morrison to the best of your abilities; for once, your call sign was so rightfully named that every time he’d come into the room, you’d _quietly_ slip away without anyone noticing. Of course, this didn’t slip past Jesse’s attention, though he has yet to make a comment about it.

Maybe it’s because for the last two days you’ve been on your graveyard shifts, and it’s finally taking a toll on you. Not only do you have to stay awake through the night, patrolling the perimeter and making random checks of private security cameras, you also have to stay up for the day duties so graciously given to you both by Rogers and Morrison. You and Jesse were given random times to catch up on your sleep, before returning back to the field. Thankfully, the night was so much calmer than having the blond breathe down your necks or Rogers’ ever piercing gaze on the both of you.

You pulled on the high collar of your jacket, having your neck exposed to the wind and cold isn’t something you want to deal with right now. “I’ll be moving down King’s Row in a few minutes, over.”

“Copy that, Quiet. Try not to catch a cold while you’re there, alright?” Dave teased as you allowed yourself to snicker.

“Yeah, I hear you, operator.”

Dave was an actual godsend for you Blackwatch Reds. While he himself doesn’t do the heavy lifting, you’re fairly certain he hasn’t slept in a while either. He’s always there when you’re awake and whenever you’re not, you know he’s tinkering with the database that’ll help you out for the rest of the day. You’ll remember to get him a souvenir once the operation’s over.

You adjusted your rifle as your boots made contact with the next roof over. While you’ve been surveying the place for a good two days, something always seems to be happening when you least suspected it. So far, nobody got hurt or tripped Scotland Yard for that matter; all of the past incidents were just very _unnerving._

On the first night, directly after your awkward conversation with Morrison, someone legitimately tried to _break in_ his hotel room. Imagine your shock upon finding out that the unknown assailant you just barreled down the fire escape just so happen to be a die-hard fan of Morrison’s. Apparently, the middle-aged businessman had a little bit to drink, and was forced by his co-workers to break in the hotel and steal the Strike Commander’s underwear. After a thorough interrogation, in which it involved you pointing your Glock between his eyes as you towered over the sweating man in your masked visor and intimidating Blackwatch uniform, you dropped the man off in front of a local police station, quite displeased with the affair.

The next night, you were out scouting the neighborhood when Jesse sent out a distress signal. You ran, in full speed, past the highway and back into the hotel, only to find the kid wrestling with an old lady in one of its elevators. You were too shocked to form words, even after he hastily explained that the old woman was very much convinced that her room was the one Morrison’s currently occupying. You snapped from your trance after witnessing the crone bat Jesse’s head with her purse, which kind of forced you to cry out between a snort and a strangled cough.

All in all, these incidents had you and the rest of your Reds pulling the roots of your hairs in utter exasperation. Just what the hell is wrong with London?! “Don’t fall asleep now, McCree. You still have a few hours left before your next shift.” Dave warned suddenly. You can hear the cowboy yawn from the other end of the line.

You jumped down from another rooftop. In a few moments, you’ll be reaching the base of Big Ben, and probably be able to see the Thames. Tonight, you and Jesse focused on expanding your search on this whole area, since tomorrow is the actual anniversary of the peace accords. The ceremony will be held at St. James Park, and it was only fitting to have this place picked clean.

There’s a small alley for you to safely jump down on. The night was quiet anyways; maybe it’s because of the faint autumn chill or the majority sleeping this off, but you enjoyed these times. If only you had a good book and some coffee, you’d be reading under the moonlight by now.

It only occurred to you now that this was the first time you finally saw a clear sky. The moon was a glowing white disk perched atop your heads, shining on you like a spotlight. Stars dotted here and there; if not for London’s worsening smog and light pollution, maybe the celestial bodies would seem a bit more magical to you right now. Your thoughts shifted back to that night with Morrison. You barely talked at all, but maybe that’s for the best. There’s something about him that you just can’t quite place. Maybe it’s the way he always seemed to stare at you, as if he was sizing you up, or that scathing tone in his voice that sickens your gut.

Whatever it was, you hoped it will be over soon. You looked up to the sky once again, before returning to your work.

* * *

 You never knew you hated convenience store coffee until Jesse bought you a cup from across the street.

The morning was expected of London; cold, grey and awfully wet, even though it’s not raining. You took a sip of the beverage, the plastic taste made you gag out of reflex almost every damn time. You tried not to let it bother you; the gesture was sweet of him and it was helping your cover.

...But Jesus this is bad. It’s worse than your usual 3 in 1 packet, and you thought nothing could ever top that as the worst tasting coffee in the history of ready to made food. What would you give for a sip of Angela’s special blend right now. You and her share a common love for caffeine; it’s a staple for every college student aspiring to be unemployed able to make a difference in this world, after all.

You tugged at the collar of your jacket. You’re dressed to look like a civilian, but you’re not sure of your outfit. Gabriel must’ve forgotten the tactical aspect of clothes for a soldier such as you, so your choices were severely limited. You finally decided to settle on a cream turtleneck dress, black thigh-high socks and your combat boots. You thought you would be cold in it, but the jacket certainly helped in keeping you warm along with your beret.

At your feet lay a large, black case. From an untrained eye, it looked like your everyday guitar or violin case. Passerby thought you’re just another hipster musician or a student learning the craft, enjoying a cup of disgusting coffee at eight in the morning. You thought it was the perfect cover for today’s agenda; picking out the suspicious stragglers from Morrison’s celebratory welcome speech.

Out of all the venues the UN chose to hold the event, it had to be  St. James. It had to be the most obvious one with Buckingham Palace and Big Ben at the background, that is also a primordial ground for sniper fire. You wondered if they were so desperate for publicity that they’re even willing to cause traffic in that small space.

Your back slumped against the garden wall, making sure to look like you’re actually listening to the festivities. Despite being such a small space, the park was overcrowded. There were families who took the time to join in the ceremony, kids running around wearing Overwatch’s colors, couples holding hands, balloons and the usual store carts filling the park.

Squad Echo was in charge of the event’s security. Captain Rogers, being the unit’s sniper, had positioned herself somewhere atop the roofs of London. Her second-in-command, Oz, remained with Morrison as his bodyguard, while the rest of Echo stalked the sidelines. From your position you could see Winters’ familiar head bobbing in and out of the crowds as part of the event’s first aid responders.

Your comm crackled to life as you took another tentative sip of your coffee. _Blergh._ “Am in position, darlin’. You alright there?” Jesse’s situated somewhere further away from the center of attraction. A certain tidbit of information from him and Dave had you tightening your defenses today, and you and your fellow Red aren’t taking any chances.

“There’s been some recent hackings happening to your comms lately.” Your operator commented earlier on over a quick breakfast. “I thought it was just your devices being faulty, but according to the data it’s been going on all night while you were out on patrol.” You paused downing your oatmeal after hearing his words.

“Is it a breach then?” Your brows furrowed.

You could hear him tap a few keys on his keyboard. “No. Whoever it is, they tried and were sloppy. I’m already tracking them down as we speak.” He’s trying to be reassuring, but your gut’s already thinking otherwise.

“Check on it anyways,” You finished your oatmeal in one gulp. “And run a scan on all of our comms; make sure we don’t get hacked again.”

Jesse told you his side of the dirt, and because of that, you decided to switch things up a bit. Instead of just helping Echo in their security detail, you and McCree threw on your disguises and joined the festivities yourselves, in search of suspicious people amongst the crowd. Echo would be too busy to notice you two doing something else, as they’ll be helping manage the crowds to properly guard Morrison and the UN delegates right now, even with just Oz with him and Rogers somewhere out there watching from a scope.

You finally finished your drink. “I’m good here, Jesse.” You effortlessly clenched the empty paper cup and dropped it in the trash can beside you. The only ones who knew of your plan was just between you Blackwatch Reds. You knew you should’ve at least informed the team or even Morrison, but because of the latest intel, something isn’t stirring right in your gut, preventing you from sharing the change of plans.

And sometimes, your gut can be damn well right.

“Welcome, welcome!” The mic sounded and the crowd erupted in cheers. You tilted your head back to see a suited man on the stage. “Thank you for joining us on this most auspicious day!” He said as the crowd cheered again.

You picked up the guitar case and began weaving away from the crowd. You have yet to spot anything suspicious from your area. You can hear the announcer still ongoing, and you started walking in circles around the park. You’d sometimes take a seat on a bench or on some random garden wall, eyes scanning each and every face you come across.

You thought about using the tactical visor; maybe it would help you out scope your potential enemies. But then again, that specific visor’s only good for night operations. People would definitely be freaked out seeing a midget wearing a masked visor on broad daylight.

The course of the event continued without another hitch. Speeches upon speeches from one UN delegate to another; in a while it would be Morrison’s turn to represent Overwatch. It was also time for you and Jesse to start moving again. You easily slung the guitar case over your shoulder as you walked towards the backstage area.

Oz, his stance stiff and unmoving, lifted a brow when he saw you approaching. “You look nice, Quiet. I could barely recognize you.” He said as you smiled at him.

“You flatter me, Oz. But then again, if you didn’t recognize me at first, it probably means I’m doing my job right.” You settled the case at your feet as you stretched your arms, stressed joints popping in place.

“You’re doing your job now?”

“...Part of it, yeah.”

“Where’s Morrison?” You asked to steer him away from the topic, who only pointed a thumb to the bathroom. “Just went in?” You can’t help but question further; keeping your paranoid thoughts in check.

The Russian curtly nodded. You believe he also thought the same. Even for someone’s who’s undergone the Soldier Enhancement Program, it’s still your duty as grunts of the organization to protect your commander. You decided to wait for Morrison to appear before you slip away again.

You find Oz to be as quiet and as intimidating as you thought him to be. You don’t share that many idle conversations, nor did you strike up any. Being Captain Rogers’ second-in-command, he’s the most serious one in Squad Echo. He reminded you of Genji if he were more level headed. Maybe that’s why you’re comfortable around him.

A few minutes passed and your thoughts were getting more paranoid. People kept on passing you two, some were important dignitaries, the event’s staff, but majority of them were members of the press. You can see them stop to ask Oz a few questions due to him wearing the Blue uniform, and that gave you some reassurance that they didn’t recognize you.

Another minute passed. You visibly tensed for each moment Morrison’s gone. Oz saw this and got up from his post to the bathroom. Before he even reached the door, however, it opened, and a weary-looking Strike Commander appeared, rubbing his hands together.

He blue eyes looked curious upon seeing Oz just standing there. “...Was about to get you, sir.” Came his simple answer as the blond merely nodded in understanding. He then turned to you and immediately stopped short.

You tilted your head to the side, that’s an expression you don’t see from him everyday. “Something the matter?” You inquired when he rapidly stared up and down your form. You don’t understand that look on his face.

For some reason, you find that a bit unnerving. “...My eyes are up here, sir.” You stated blandly as Morrison’s head snapped back to attention.

He brought a fist to his mouth and coughed, “What happened to your uniform?” He simply asked, his eyes everywhere but on yours. You thought maybe he isn’t so used to you in casual clothes. You weren’t joking when you said you didn’t leave base at all for pleasure; you had no reason to. And it’s not like you can return to your country anyways. You’d be sent straight to jail the moment you land there.

You shrugged your shoulders. “Part of the mission. Though, you should know that by now, sir.” You stressed how his ignorance is just straight up embarrassing. And Oz, a Blue, is here! You can’t exactly tell him why with the guy around now can you?

Oz, for some unknown reason, seem to understand the implications. “I’ll be taking my break now, Commander.” He said to the blond with a stiff salute. You looked at Oz’s back, surprised that he could be so attentive. He’d make a good Blackwatch agent someday.

Maybe you should tip Gabriel off. “So,” Morrison turned to you fully, his eyes serious. “Is this getup supposed to be part of your super secret mission?” His sarcastic tone was back, but something tells you he’s not kidding around anymore.

You sighed. “Can’t tell you, sir. Not right now, at least.” You had gestured to your immediate surroundings, noting the people. At least you’re telling the truth. That’s Blackwatch protocol at its finest.

“Where’s McCree?”

“Somewhere, out there.” You enjoyed seeing the frown on Morrison’s face. Suits his ugly mug _much, much better_ than his picture perfect smile.

Morrison’s steel expression, however, didn’t bat an eye at your half-assed remark. “You better not be fooling around in _my_ ops, agent.”

“Trust me, _sir._ I’m not enjoying my punishment right now, either.”

“Hmph.” His lips curled into a slight sneer, keeping his cold gaze trained onto yours. “Better make sure you submit that report right, unlike last time.”

He finally smirked, showing off his perfect white teeth while you glared at him, losing your cool. “Asshole…” You mumbled when his name was finally called.

“Without further ado, I give you, Overwatch’s Strike Commander himself! Jack Morrison.”

The blond took a moment to compose himself before smiling as he set off, his back straight and shoulders relaxed and carefree. It was almost as if he was never mad or annoyed at you in the first place with such good acting. You watched him shake hands with the announcer, as well as wave at the crowd who screamed his name in admiration.

From the corner of your eye, you could see a glint of metal shine from the bell tower. Your breathing hitched, finding Big Ben to be so incredibly beautiful and scary at this time. It could just be your imagination; maybe it’s just one of the bell towers hands about to strike nine o’clock for all you knew.

You kept your eyes trained on Morrison’s broad back. He already started his speech, something about his battles during the Omnic Crisis. You didn’t lay eyes off him until _you’re absolutely sure_ of the signal you’re about to get. If the intel is right, if _he_ was right then--

You didn’t realize you were gripping your elbows so tightly until you heard your comm ringing. “Quiet, here. Any luck?” You whispered as you waited for the other end to respond.

And Jesse’s familiar southern drawl was like music to your ears. “I got ‘er.” He sounded gruff and grumpier than usual, but seemingly _alive_ nonetheless.

“Heard that, operator?”

“Loud and clear. Sending you his coordinates.”

You let out the breath you’ve been holding in. That’s honestly all you could ever ask for. “Alright, I’m moving.” You grabbed your case again, walking briskly away from the park as you paged Picasso to take your place.

* * *

 Captain Jane Rogers sat on a chair, her clothes and her hair crumpled like paper as a thick coil of rope held her torso in place. Her wrists and legs were bound together. She had a cloth gag and she’s not looking too happy about her situation.

When you arrived at the clock room of Big Ben, you found Jesse looking out the glass with peacemaker in hand. At his feet lay the broken remains of what looked like to be a radio and its earpiece. “You okay there, Jesse?” You tentatively asked him first. The cowboy slowly looked at you and you can see him sporting a busted lip.

 _Ouch._ “I’ve brought Angie’s first-aid kit with me. Get that cut cleaned up, okay?” You placed the black case on a table, opening it to reveal your assault rifle and Mercy’s miracle bag. Jesse just silently nodded at you while holding up an antiseptic. You can’t help but worry about him. The mission was already dangerous enough with just the two of you on the field and another one as your guiding voice. If any of you got hurt, it won’t just blow the mission.

You won’t be alive to see it fail.

Your fellow Red didn’t say anything, though he did follow your advice. You noted how he favored his left hand a lot more than usual; that usual charming smile an upside down frown. You narrowed your eyes at this before turning to the woman on the chair. Some small thoughts raised your mind. Maybe you should have been the one to capture the spy? Or at least tell the others? No, you don’t have time to wallow on past choices.

It’s time to deal with this shitty Blue. “Hello, ma’am.” You started simply, watching her blonde ponytail bobbing slightly. If looks could kill, you’d be dead by now. “I guess you weren’t expecting this to happen to you, huh?” You hesitantly smiled at how amusing the situation was when the woman screamed into the cloth gag, trying to form words with it.

You gently tugged it away, and in an instant the woman spat at your face. “How dare you, Agent Quiet! You and McCree here are liable for court martial for assaulting your superior officer!” She screeched as you wiped away the spittle on your cheek with the back of your glove.

Spitting isn’t really your kink. Your leg reared up as your boot kicked the chair leg from behind her. There was a sickening crack as the chair crashed to the ground, the woman yelping in surprise and pain. You then grabbed the chair leg; rusty sharp nails rutting from the sides as you brought it close to her blue eyes.

“Yes, well, that’s where you’re wrong, Rogers.” You simply stated, dark eyes boring holes into her own. “Blackwatch agents don’t get court martial for hitting our commanding officers. We get executed on the spot, and that’s why you barely see anyone with our colors. None of us are real spies or masters of espionage, _unlike you._ Funny,” The corners of your lips twitched, trying not to smile too wide right now. “You seem to be well-versed with Overwatch’s rules. Do you even know what happens to terrorists and sleeper agents who get caught?”

You leaned even closer, one trained eye nearly touching hers. “Blackwatch makes sure they never see the light of day again.” You spoke softly as you drew gentle circles around her eyes using the rusted nails of the chair leg, eliciting muffled gasps of pain from the shitty Blue.

“W-why...how did you..?” She managed to pant out the words as you sat on the floor next to her, chair leg still in hand. From the corner of your eye, you could see Jesse watching the scene unfold before his very eyes. He didn’t look too bothered by it.

It was just as unreadable as yours. “You got a little somethin’ over here, sweetpea.” He gestured to her then patted the side of his neck. Your eyes flitted down to see a small love mark.

You closed your eyes. _This kid._ “...Really?”

Failing to see your disgusted frown, Jesse continued, “Look down, darlin’.” By the edge of her collarbone you finally saw a red tattoo of a pointed T. You’ve seen this symbol before. There’s a whole database of it back at HQ.

“Talon.” You finally said out loud, a look of annoyance passing your face.

So they’re here after all. “After that lousy hackin’ attempt, Del Rosario cracked up the security.” Jesse passed you something from Rogers’ bag. You caught her comm with ease. “Didn’t take too much to dwell on it. Soon as I saw that tat, you became mighty suspicious to me.” He spat as you held it up to her face, flicking through the screen at each suspicious message you came across.

“So, you’re a member of Talon, huh?” You read one of her messages with fake interest. “That’s quite the edgy name you got yourself there.”

She didn’t say anything, opting to just glare at the both of you. You scrolled down the messages, seeing enough evidence to get her court martialed, and information for future reference. Lacroix’s going to have a field day.

“So what?” She suddenly yelled through your scooby-doo impersonations. Jesse winced at her voice. “You gonna interrogate me? A couple of Blackwatch brats like you two?” She smirked smugly. “You may have gotten the jump on me, but it’s gonna take a lot to extract the information you need.”

“Oh, we’re not worried about that.” You sincerely smiled at her. “We already called up an expert to come get you.” You slowly stood up from the floor as the door behind you opened, right on time.

You can immediately see that familiar, beannied man walk out of the door as he nodded at the both of you. “Quiet, McCree.” He remarked as you nodded back. Behind him, a handsome gentleman wearing Overwatch Blues walked in as well. His black, slicked back hair and trimmed moustache gave him an almost surreal and regal look even for a soldier. “Reyes, Lacroix…” Rogers mumbled, her own eyes widening in fear.

Gerard Lacroix, though an official agent of Overwatch, would sometimes help Blackwatch out too when it comes to doing some extra dirty work, as he is in charge of all Talon-related activities. His specialty, as you came to know in the past, involves psychological manipulation, and you hated it when he does that to you. “Goodness, Jesse.” He gazed at the cowboy worriedly. “You should put an ice pack on that, or else it will swell.”

“In a minute.”

“Have you done your Miranda warning, Quiet?” You raised an eyebrow at your commander, who was already taking the restraints off of Rogers and cuffing her a new pair.

“Do we have to? We have an official Blue here.” You gestured at your newcomer.

“It’s just for formality, _mon lapin_. And they get to write the report.” Weird Blue regulations.

“Then let Jesse do it, I’m not writing up any more reports with Morrison involved.” You shook your head as you shivered at the thought of another washed-up report.

“Alright, McCree. You do the warning right, and I won’t destroy your hat.”

“Captain Jane Rogers,” You can see that knowing smirk underneath the shade of Jesse’s hat. “In accordance to the law granted upon me by Overwatch, you’re under arrest for suspected terrorism, solicitations with the enemy, and the attempted assassination of our Strike Commander, Jack Morrison.”

The three of you, and even Rogers herself, looked at him in wonder. “Huh, fair enough kid.” Your commander whistled. Maybe putting him at Watchpoint New York was a good idea after all.

Gabriel and Jesse escorted Rogers out of sight, probably to the ship that had your two visitors come riding onto. Lacroix had picked up Rogers’ sniper rifle; gloved hands skimming over the weapon with interest. Your dark eyes made way towards him.

“It’s been a while since I last saw you out in the field.” You said, after a while. The Frenchman merely smiled, a thin line gracing his features.

Like Angela, you didn’t understand how another high-ranking Blue managed to be your friend; if not, close acquaintances. He was unique in a way that you couldn’t quite place, as his silence can be unsettling sometimes. Lacroix was more calm and reserved as opposed to you, the loud mouth who always seem to get into trouble with your superiors. But then again, you and Lacroix both share your love for reading and looking down upon those who hurt your allies.

“So, Agent McCree managed to root out our rat simply because he cannot keep his pants on?” The statement drew a low chuckle from you. At this point, you’re just glad Jesse’s still alive, even after getting some action.

You wondered on how you’re breaking the news to Squad Echo now that it’s confirmed Rogers was a traitor and Talon was involved. You’re not even sure how close they are to each other. You knew for sure Winters is going to be heartbroken, and then there’s Oz, her second-in-command, who trusted her judgment above all else. You knew he wouldn’t take too kindly to this betrayal. You’re not sure about the others--though you do have a sinking suspicion Picasso won’t even care.

Your mind suddenly stopped. “What are we going to tell Morrison?” You blurted out to Lacroix. You didn’t mind being so informal around him; the both of you knew of your obvious dislike for the blond and the mutual feeling he has of you.

And for some reason, as one of the Big Trio’s closest friends, he didn’t comment too much about it. “Everything, of course.” He didn’t even bat an eye; he was still checking on Rogers’ stuff on the ground. McCree had definitely disabled every possible communications link the Blue had on her; she’s impossible to be traced.

“He’s going to learn of it as soon as he reads the report anyways.” You shook your head at him.

“Yeah, bad call. Should’ve asked Gabe for advice.”

“Since when did you start calling Gabriel by his first--no, nickname?” The man smirked at you.

“We’re getting off-topic.” You waved a hand dismissively. “Besides, he asked me to call him that.”

“You should’ve known better than to ask someone from _le bleu_ then, _mon lapin._ ”

“Don’t speak French to me, else your fiancé’s gonna get jealous.”

“Why, I never!”

He chuckled as you smiled. Maybe this is why you can think of Lacroix as your friend. He’s an easygoing, lenient person to get along with. Though you shudder to think of what he can do in the interrogation room. “This might not be the last of Talon’s attacks.” He finally returned to you, a frown creasing his features. “For all we know, there could be a group hiding under our noses.”

“You think we should get Morrison out of London then?” You crossed your arms, deep in thought.

“Out of the question. That will be mission failure for Blackwatch.” He said. “The operation states that you will neutralize the target before they even come close to hurting Jack.”

“Yeah, but,” You sighed. Your risky plan already got Jesse hurt. You don’t care enough to get Morrison out of trouble, but he is still mission critical. “I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

“You don’t seem like that to Captain Rogers, however.”

“Rogers is different.” You quickly replied, almost repulsed by the very idea to even pity her. “Anyone who hurts my Reds and Blues is gone, decapitated, whoosh, buh-bye.” You threw your hands in the air as Gerard merely smiled at you.

“You look gorgeous, _mon lapin_.” He quietly said after a while. You can feel an embarrassed blush creep up your face as you allowed yourself to smile as well. “Are you going to tell me I should also wear civvies more often then?” You quirked your lips as the former laughed, a low rumble emanating from his chest as he did so.

“What, and I don’t get the thanks I deserve?” Gabriel returned, his eyebrow arched and expression sarcastic. Jesse wasn’t with him; you figured he’s probably keeping an eye on Rogers.

You glared at him. You have too many things you want to say to him right now, but today’s not that day. “I sincerely appreciate the sentiment, _commander._ ” You spat venomously. “But the next time you do something like this, I’d very much appreciate a heads-up, thank you very much.” Your nose was in the air as Gabriel snorted derisively.

“You should’ve worn the knit cap. Goes well with the dress.”

“I told you; It’s been a while.” You suddenly paused, self-consciously looking down on your clothes. Is this the reason why Morrison was acting so strange? “...I probably look stupid, huh?”

“ _Chica_ , you look beautiful. Now shut up and act like your call sign, got it?”

* * *

 You left Big Ben with Gabriel this time. Jesse accompanied Lacroix and Rogers to Watchpoint Gibraltar, where she’ll be interrogated. It’s also Lacroix’s gentle way of saying ‘torture’ through his so-called questioning. He can be a derisive son-of-a-bitch when he wants to, and that’s something you never want to see.

Your commander went with you to explain to Morrison the current circumstances. You can tell that he won’t be happy with this, since he trusted Rogers enough to lead Squad Echo for this mission. From what you remember, the sleeper agent had been with you for months at a time, starting out as a sergeant from Brooklyn while you were still training with Gabriel.

Once you and Gabriel reached the hotel, you quietly made way to your own room while your commander met up with Morrison. It’ll be a while until you’re going to hear from them, and judging by the muffled raised voices coming from the other room, you can tell that Morrison was acting exactly as you thought he would.

“ _She’s been on their side this whole time?!_ ”

“ _You were shadowing her and you didn’t tell me?”_

“ _Is this why you placed_ **_her_ ** _here? To act as my fucking babysitter?”_

Ouch. You expected this but it suddenly hurt your ego more hearing it straight from his mouth. You shrugged off your jacket, letting it fall on the sofa when the door to your room opened. You peaked over the sofa seat to see Winters’ confused face. “Quiet? Have you seen the captain? We’ve been looking for her, calling her communicator even.” She said, panicking. “I think she’s in trouble! We’ve got to go find her--”

“Winters,” You began, quietly. “Sit down, I’ll make you some tea.” You patted the seat beside you before standing up to make the beverage. The blonde medic tentatively sat on the sofa, watching you take two mugs from the kitchenette with obvious confusion in her face.

You already decided to tell her everything, she and Squad Echo deserved that at least. You started slow. You told her about your mission; that you were supposed to keep Morrison safe from the shadows and away from public eye, whilst picking off the enemies who were after him. One of those enemies, you mentioned gently, just so happen to be Talon, a small mercenary group Overwatch and Blackwatch was keeping an eye on. You told her the implications of the Strike Commander’s assassination, what the world would do with a dead peace icon. “It won’t just be a dispute between world leaders; it will be a war.” You said, your eyes trained on her pale face. You could see her hands shaking, gripping her mug.

“And the captain…” She started, her voice low. “Is our enemy…”

You told her of your suspicions, how Blackwatch had been shadowing her for a while. The incident at Big Ben, the messages in her comm. You omitted Jesse’s questionable information gathering techniques, as you can’t help but feel disgusted at the cowboy for Winters’ stead.

You don’t know a lot about Captain Rogers. She was beautiful, that’s for certain, had a headstrong attitude and seemed to always looked out for her team in a caring, motherly way. You wondered about her connection with Talon. Had she always been with them? Did she really not think of her comrades, or was it all just an act? You tried not to think about it too much.

It might come as a shock to the Blues, but in Blackwatch, betrayal isn’t so uncommon. You were protective of your comrades, that’s for sure, but you know when and where to use such tactics to complete the objective, regardless of what your comrades would think. They voice this problem of yours for such a long time that you just got used to it. Their voices are just static in your ears.

Winters didn’t say anything else after you explained everything to her. You expected her to deny the allegations against her captain, scream at you even for saying such a thing. All the Blues you came across were like that. But then, you watched her lips press into a thin line and she slowly, but surely, nodded at you.

“Does everyone else know?” She asked, after a while.

“Oz does. He’s the first one we told, seeing as he’s the second-in-command. He probably already told the others.”

“And Commander Morrison?”

“Reyes is here.” You softly sighed, leaning back against your seat. “...I’m surprised you’re taking this a little too well, unlike Morrison.” You then narrowed your eyes at her, a slight suspicion crawling through your gut.

The young woman exhaled, looking exhausted. “To be honest, it’s just a lot to take in.” She said. “Captain Rogers wasn’t exactly my close friend, but I trusted her on the field.”

“I guess I’m just too tired to even recognize her as a traitor…”

You drank your tea. You hoped Winters didn’t hate it too much; milk tea is sweet and intoxicating, like alcohol, and it is so far your favorite blend. “Will our operation continue..?” She asked you, after a while.

“Like always. You to yours, and me to mine.”

* * *

Winters retired to her bed, saying she needed to rest. You were kinda glad that Morrison doesn’t have anything else scheduled today.

Jesse will return with the dropship that’ll take Gabriel back to base. Your commander, after his little heated talk with Morrison, handed you the book you had in your original duffel bag. “Thought you might be bored without it.” He gruffly said as you held it close to your chest. As you thought, it was indeed Sherlock Holmes. You can’t tell whether you’re happy that he keeps looking out for you or not.

“Thanks, Gabe.”

The appearance of Talon didn’t change a thing; it’s still your job to make sure they’re miles away from Morrison. With the initial ceremony done, you still have some days left before he gets back to the Swiss HQ, safe and sound, mission complete and punishment dealt with. You can’t wait to get out of his hair.

You had decided to take a walk around town for a bit, before heading back for another patrol. In the meantime, you eagerly awaited the results from Rogers’ questioning. If Lacroix was a good interrogator that he claims to be, then you should be getting the good stuff tomorrow.

Humoring Gabe a little, you exchanged your beret for the knit cap he planted in the duffel bag, as well as putting on a royal blue cardigan (you suspected this was Angela’s). The weather outside looked nice enough for a new change of clothes. You’re also bringing in along the guitar case that’s currently housing your pulse rifle and visor. While you can certainly fight well with just your fists and your Glock, you felt more at home with your rifle.

Book tucked under your elbow, you exited the room and headed downstairs to the lobby. Oz and the rest of Squad Echo, tired and exhausted from the recent events, opted to stay behind. They’re probably still reeling from the news, and you can’t exactly blame them; maybe they still can’t believe it. Maybe they don’t know who to trust now, and that’s perfectly acceptable to you.

You easily slung the guitar case over your shoulder as you looked around the area for a good spot to read. King’s Row can be a smoggy place during the rush hour, but the setting sun bathed the whole neighborhood in its orange glow, almost setting the place on fire. The streets were bustling with people going to their homes and cars rolling past its tight streets. You settled on a small cafe wedged in between two towering apartment homes. The place was quaint and adorable, but it looked so out of place between the modern buildings.

Good thing it was almost deserted, or you would’ve looked somewhere else. There’s also the issue with that convenience store coffee that you wanted to get rid off from your memory. “What can I get you?” The bored voice of a waiter reached your ears as you placed the guitar case on the ground beside your feet.

“An Americano, please.”

For some reason, you noticed the waiter’s eyes widened slightly. You blinked, and he was already writing something down on his notepad. Was that just your imagination? “Coming right up.” He muttered before returning to the counter to brew your drink. You were seated by the window, an Areca palm obscured your small form from the outside. You placed your book on the recently scrubbed table as you waited for your order.

While you have a good paycheck, most of what you earn goes to an anonymous bank account that secretly sends money to your family back in your country. It was Gabriel’s idea. You initially didn't want to go to Blackwatch; you couldn’t bare the thought of your family thinking you’ve simply just disappeared, again, but prison wasn’t exactly something you want either.

You’re still not pardoned by its military, but that doesn’t mean you’re not helping your family out. The commander finally got you to join with the guarantee that most of your proceeds will go to your loved ones. They don’t know that you have been secretly funding them, nor did they think you’d still even be alive at this point, but the comforting news that your little brother has finally graduated high school and your mother getting the hospital treatment she deserves was all you could ever ask for.

You looked around the small cafe. There were three other customers in the room. An elderly couple sat at the booth near a fireplace, conversing quietly between themselves over empty mugs and a plate of half-eaten eclairs. There was a man by the table next to you, lounging sideways on his seat while reading a newspaper. You can’t really see his face over the newspaper, but you can tell he’s got quite a huge build, broad shoulders, meaty hands and all. He’s wearing a brown leather jacket with a white shirt underneath it, and a baseball cap that seemed to hide his...blond...hair…

No. Fucking. Way.

You immediately looked down on your table, flipping open your book as you buried your nose into it. It didn’t matter to you that it’s upside down. You resisted taking another peek above it because _no fucking way_ . “Your Americano, ma’am.” _God why now?!_ The waiter returned with your drink, and you almost wanted to scream bloody murder.

You nodded into your book, hoping he’d go away by now. After settling the cup on your table, however, the waiter was still there, standing and looking hopefully at you. You wanted to scream again, but only managed to growl an impolite “What?” under your breath. This seemed to get your message across him, as he flinched and swiftly moved away from your table while you relaxed somewhat.

Now to deal with your next problem. “Don’t you think it’s rude, not thanking the guy?”

...Or maybe not. You finally looked up from your paperback, glaring at the cocky smile on Morrison’s face as he, too, stared at you from his newspaper. “Why are you following me?” You said through gritted teeth, ignoring his statement as Morrison put down his material.

“Me? I should ask you the same.” With the paper gone, you can see a glass of cold brew on his table. “I understand that you’re my washed-up babysitter, with an odd way of dealing with traitors, but stalking me even after work hours is on a whole new level of creepiness, agent.” He smirked.

You can feel your eyebrow twitching. “Who said,” Your voice was dangerously low. “I was stalking you?”

“I was here first.”

“I got out of the hotel first!”

You can see his flushed pink at your words. “We both got out at the same time.” He mumbled before taking a sip of his drink.

You massagged your temples as you heaved a huge sigh. So much for a break, now it doesn’t seem you’ll be able to catch one. If the both of you left at the same time, how come you didn’t see him leave?! “Fine, Morrison,” You grumbled as you fished your wallet from your pocket. “I’ll leave you to your coffee.” You were about to leave some money on the table when you spotted him doing the same.

“No need for that, agent. I’ll go.” He said as you grounded your jaw from snapping at him.

“No, sir, _I’ll go_.”

“No, no, let me.”

“ _I_ _t’s fine._ ”

“How about this,” You paused. “We both stay, sound good?” He said as you looked at him incredulously. Stay here, with him? You honestly don’t know if that’s a good idea. You’re worried that if you say something out of line, Gabriel might worsen your punishment.

But then again, he wanted you to fix that attitude of yours, and for that to start happening, it happens first with Morrison. “...Fine.” Sighing, you pocketed your wallet once more in defeat.

The chair in front of you moved, and the blond seated himself on it. “Since we started talking, might as well share the same table.” He shrugged as he placed his drink on the surface. You merely shook your head as you drank yours. The warm bitter taste brings a soothing comfort to your soul. It’s something you desperately needed right now too.

You gingerly picked up your book again, opting to ignore him for the time being. You figured that if you continued living up to your name, you’d finally get him off your back. Fortunately for you, Morrison had decided to return to his newspaper and doesn’t seem to be in a talking mood either.

The silence you both share was strangely comfortable. Coupled with the smell of coffee and soft jazz playing in the background like some hipster’s dream come true, you buried all of your awkward thoughts deep in your mind and focused entirely on reading your all-time favorite detective fiction, second to the ‘Bannon and Claire’ series. You remembered you were so young when you started reading Sherlock Holmes, and because your vocabulary wasn’t so impressive back then, you barely understood anything. You tended to skip Holmes’ wrap up of the case as you were just pleased reading the action scenes alone. You smiled to yourself. Ah, if only your younger self would see you now.

You’re so engrossed in your little world at 221B Baker Street, that your hand absentmindedly started reaching for your cup to take a sip, only to meet air. Your hand kept pawing for the handle, still too in deep to notice that your fingers kept missing your drink. You also didn’t notice Morrison’s electric blue eyes briefly meeting your face before settling on the gestures of your hand.

He huffed as he grinned at the scene. Seeing as you’re still preoccupied, he gently reached forward and slowly slid the cup closer to you outstretched hand. Your fingers finally latched on to the handle, as you brought it to your lips for a tentative sip.

A small chuckle snapped you from your reverie, and you arched a questioning eyebrow at his direction. “Sorry, it’s nothing.” He coughed as he nodded to your book.

“That looks old.” You resisted rolling your eyes as you flexed the dog-eared, yellowed pages. “It technically is, almost a century and a half years old. Even then, it remains a classic.” You were proud to know this kind of information; after all, it was drilled into your head by your ever-so talented professors.

“I meant that book itself.” He gestured towards the cover. “You barely see a paperback anymore, that’s why bookstores have become such rarities.” He said as you tilted your head to the side.

“Yeah, and so are newspapers.” You flicked a hand at the material, making Morrison smirk.

“Ah, well,” He brought the paper closer to you. “Newspapers have something I want that the stuff on the holopads don’t.” He proudly said as you peeked into the page, and saw a bunch of cartoons and comic strips.

You were unable to contain your laughter, “Oh, geez Morrison.” You snorted as tears started slipping through the corners of your eyes. “I thought you’re just some stuck-up old man who missed reading the news from paper.” You didn’t notice his eyes widening at your words but you continued without a care.

In your fit of barely contained giggles you started hiccuping. “Instead, you’re just reading the comic strips like, _hic_ , like a kid!” You gasped between laughs as you watched the blond’s face turn pink in embarrassment.

“I-I’m your commanding officer!” But even as he tried to pull rank, Morrison could also feel himself grinning from ear to ear, as your infectious laughter rang constantly enough to dissipate his anger away. You could feel the old couple and the waiter’s eyes on you, but you’d rather drink coffee through your nose than to keep quiet about this new found information.

You didn’t know what time it was, or how long has it been, but the rest of your late afternoon was pleasantly spent with a rather friendlier than usual Morrison. You didn’t notice him refilling your drinks as he slipped the extra payment to the waiter, while you were engrossed in a certain crossword puzzle in the newspaper he’s making you do, “Since you’re book smart, you should know a lot of words, huh?”

“Morrison, while I love to read, that doesn’t exactly mean I’m a genius.”

“Yeah, I could tell with how you write those reports.” You smacked your book on his forearm as he laughed. The blond’s eyes flickered towards his watch. “...Almost seven.” He announced as you almost choked on your drink.

 _Oh no._ You quickly dug into your pockets for your communicator. Opening it up, you can see the blinking lights in rapid fire succession. “Fuck,” You cursed under your breath as you scrolled down the messages. Dave has been calling and paging you for almost two hours now, you can also see several missed calls from both Jesse and Winters, and even one from Gabriel himself.

Your tapped in Jesse’s number when suddenly, there’s an incoming call. “Lacroix!” You immediately answered, failing to see the look of surprise on Morrison’s face. “I’m sorry, I lost track of time and--”

“No need for that, _mon lapin_ ,” Despite the mention of your petty nickname, the seriousness in his voice caused your stomach to drop. “Where are you right now?”

“At Lambert’s Cafe along King’s Row--”

“Perfect. McCree’s picking you up. Meet him by the Thames in fifteen minutes for a mission briefing, understood?” You were already standing up as you hurriedly picked up your guitar case.

“Understood, sir.” The call dropped and you whipped out your wallet, producing what little money you had left and throwing it on the table. Morrison was looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“Quiet--”

“I’ve got to go, _sir._ ” You don’t like that tone; it sounded depraved of all the warmth you experienced just now. “Thanks for the coffee.”

You were about to leave when you heard him call out your name, and this halted you. Surely, this wasn’t the first time anyone’s called you by your real name? Administrative staff had to, for formality. And then there’s your measly vigilante crew, Gabriel, and Angela, those that seldom call you to get your attention, and sometimes you’d hear that whispered to you in the course of your nightmares; often ending up in screams as you wake up to hear it ringing _exactly_ like that sound at Intramuros.

You don’t experience those dreams anymore. It’s been a _quiet_ year.

Hearing your name from him, however, was enough to stop you in your tracks. “...I don’t know what’s happening, and frankly I’m getting a little pissed off because of that, but be careful out there.” His voice almost trailed away in silence if not for you not paying attention.

You don’t know why your name sounded so different when it’s Morrison calling you. It doesn’t feel good, but it’s not bad either. “I don’t want to lose another bodyguard, you hear me, agent?” That familiar commanding tone seemed to snap you from your thoughts.

 _Weird._ “Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized something. Since you're 21 and Jesse's 17-18, that means you can technically call him 'kid'. *insert slow evil laugh here* this opens up so many opportunities.
> 
> Story isn't following the canon timeline, by the way. I just realized if I did, then that means Angela's Head of Medical at the age of 14 like damn Angie you're too smart girl. So yup, I'm not following the canon timeline. Canon events, however, are going to be here.
> 
> I really like Sensoo's portrayal of Gerard; nearly had a kink for mustached frenchmen who can kill me with words. So here, he's more or less an inspiration of him. Not as smart as In Alio Loco Gerard, but someone reader definitely needs to watch out for.
> 
> Sorry if this is short, or nothing's happening that much. Next chapter's the end of the London op. This fic needs more Filipino elements.
> 
> Cheers!


	7. Mission Complete?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You technically found victory in two things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, 1 month. At least this fic gets updated, the rest of my shit in ff dot net never do because of my lazy ass.

He watched you bolt out of the door. In your hurry, you left your book on the table. He had picked it up and leafed through the dog-eared pages, simple curiosity was distracting him from his thoughts; your seemingly friendly attitude towards him was refreshing if not a tad bit concerning. It was so much different from the day he first met you.

 

Jack watched the dropships level at the hangar docks. He had sent five squads from Overwatch and one Blackwatch detachment spearheaded by Gabe himself to quell the situation in Intramuros, Philippines. Though the Omnic crisis has officially ended, there were still some major cleaning up to do.

Such as that emergency signal they’ve received a few hours ago, requesting help for a large Omnic invasion happening in one of their major cities. For years their government had been frustratingly stubborn at accepting their help; their reason being the organization’s apparent connection with the United Nations, and how the country was already going through a civil war.

“The last thing Overwatch needs,” Director Petras had sternly told him. “Was to meddle with the affairs of a dying country.”

But Jack Morrison, as the newly appointed Strike Commander, alongside his most trusted allies Ana Amari, his second-in-command, and Gabriel Reyes, Blackwatch Commander,  ignored the higher-ups’ orders. Lives were needlessly thrown away, whether they were in the hands of the Omnics or the humans themselves, and Overwatch just can’t stand idly by while a country was slowly killing itself. He knew he had to do something; he had the power to do so.

It was a successful operation. Overwatch was able to defuse the situation and simultaneously ended the country’s civil war. It effectively killed two birds with one stone, and for that he was even willing to face Petras and the UN’s scoldings head-on.

All squads have arrived and were finally accounted for. They’ve lost some people, yes, but a mass funeral wouldn’t be necessary. It was still an overwhelming success, “Welcome back, agents.” He had announced with a confident smile in his face.

As usual, the newly formed Blackwatch was the last to go through medical. They’ve been assigned to the dirtier parts of the operation, ones that will forever remain hush-hush to the public. Jack had waited at the hangar specifically because he needed to hear the details from Gabe himself. He watched the small speck of black and red amidst the sea of blue, and found his best friend.

“Glad you’re still alive.” He initially joked, but soon stopped. Beside Reyes, there you stood in his shadow, soot covering your face and still wearing your tattered military greens. Compared to him, you were so short you barely reached his hips, or maybe he couldn’t tell; your head was down as you gazed at the ground with an unreadable expression.

He obviously couldn’t recognize you, and upon seeing his confusion Gabriel cleared his throat. “Morrison,” He started first with your name, then with your callsign. “This here’s Quiet, she’s a new recruit.” He said as the blonde looked at him incredulously.

“A recruit? Reyes, this is a kid--!”

“I’m not a kid.” You suddenly spoke, your head elevating to meet his gaze; dark eyes settling on the stark blue. It was a blank look, one that showed exhaustion and something else, he couldn’t tell for certain. “I’m just short.” You mumbled, before returning your attention to the floor. Jack then noted the bandages around your legs and the bloody spot by your hip.

Did he pick you up from Manila? “Are you okay? How old are you then?” He gently asked, but you refused to speak, let alone even look at him again. Gabriel, seeing this, nudged your shoulder rather harshly with the butt of his shotgun, in which you winced in pain.

“Answer the Strike Commander, kid.”

“I thought you’re my commander, Commander.” Reyes smacked you upside the head and Jack looked positively alarmed.

“Jesus, Gabe don’t hit the kid!”

That did it. You glared at Morrison with a look of pure hatred. “I said,” You _growled_ under your breath. “I’m not a kid, I’m twenty-fucking-years old and if you don’t shut the fu--” Gabriel then held your ear as you sucked in breath and lamely clutched onto his arm to stop him from pulling it.

“Aargh, Reyes! M-my ear..!”

“You going to keep disrespecting the Strike Commander like that?”

“N-no, sir, but-- _fuck, puta_ \--!” This time, he held onto the full shell of your ear and tugged; like he was twisting a doorknob. That shut you up pretty quickly. “What was that, Quiet?” Reyes matched the growl you sputtered to the blond, and you were just smart enough to finally keep quiet.

~~_Talking hurts your mouth, talking takes up so much energy and time._ ~~

Jack looked at you, almost apologetic and at the same time intrigued. Gabriel is a hardass but he lets so few people get under his skin. To you, he wondered what on earth you did to make him act so honestly around you.

He was interested in getting to know you better. Soon after your initial meeting he asked for your file. That’s a breach of Blackwatch protocol, as all inducted agents get to have their files to themselves, but he was the head of the chain of command for god’s sake; of course he’s getting your file. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t find much.  He only knew you were from the Philippines, and that you served the military for two years before deserting it to become a mercenary. He understood that Gabriel found your skills in combat befitting Blackwatch’s image, but he of all people knew his best friend.

There must be something else, a perfectly good reason why he chose to save you.

* * *

Your boots skidded on the slick, wet streets of King’s Row as you narrowly avoided a passing car heading towards your direction. The black case was heavy and flew wildly behind you, and you hoped no one was unlucky enough to get hit by it.

The Thames is around a forty-five minute walk from the cafe, and while Lacroix insisted you get down on the docks in fifteen, you bet your ass can even get there in ten with your military training and a few shortcuts you managed to find through your patrols. You made sure to avoid the major streets in fear of your case colliding with someone and losing precious time. The side alleys, though tight and seemed longer, were your best of hope of seeing the river line on time. You _do_ **_not_ **want to anger Lacroix on tardiness. Nothing ever really fazes Lacroix, as he only seemed to show his ugly side at Talon and no one can piss him off as easily as you can with the other superior officers.

But the Frenchman’s anger could go on a whole different level. The latest, most recent victim to his wrath was some Blue rookie called Jefferson and he was late to Lacroix’s briefing on an escort mission at Bangladesh. Needless to say, that briefing began, and ended, with office supplies being thrown at the poor kid. You remember hearing the damage from Angela; staple wires and bloody thumbtacks were collected from the scene.

You turned a hard left, and finally you can see the river up ahead. You checked the time to see you still have some minutes left to catch your breath and find Jesse. From what he told you, your ride should be around here.

You stood by the metal rails overlooking the waters, taking in ragged breaths to calm your lungs. You are pretty strong; your stamina is just one thing you need to work with. “I’m thirsty.” You said to yourself, nearly gasping out loud how much that run cost you. The caffeine’s definitely gone from your system now, and it’s actually making you sleepy.

You were about to call your Red when you can hear the low rumble of motor interrupting the silence. You swiftly turned around to see one of those modern fishing boats, the kind that were often seen sailing at the ocean rather than the river. Your trained eyes managed to get a glimpse of its captain steering the wheel at the bridge, and its passenger idly waving at you with his cowboy hat, “Where the hell were you?” Jesse shouted from the helm as you grimaced how it rung in your ears.

With the gangplank lowered and an arm hoisted over your armpit, you’re now aboard the S.S.Capsman. Although, if it wasn’t for London’s smog and dark sky, you would’ve mistakenly read it as ‘Crapsman’. You would’ve chuckled to yourself if not for the cowboy who introduced the captain.

“This ‘ere’s Captain Conrad, darlin’. He’s one of Reyes’s contacts and our getaway driver.” You shook hands with a man who’s definitely older than Captain Santos, wearing a fraying coat and cap, a wooden pipe puffing smoke from his lips.

You almost did a double take. Were you expecting him to start telling stories of his time in the Congo River? Or ask if his first name is Joseph?

Nevertheless, Conrad didn’t say a word and you resisted asking him those questions. You don’t have time to, for your fellow Red dragged you downstairs to the lower cabins, and there you saw another new face. A young man with pale skin and thick black hair framing his boyish face. He was wearing your colors, and was currently busy with a laptop. “And this one’s Del Rosario.” Jesse didn’t even try to hide the disdain in his voice as you raised an eyebrow.

“Commander’s orders?” You asked as the other shook his head.

“Lacroix’s. Commander Reyes didn’t want to, but seeing the gravity of the problem, this is an emergency.”

“Well, I’m here now; let’s begin that briefing.”

Del Rosario tapped a few keys into the laptop, and Lacroix’s mustached face filled the majority of the screen in a video call. “Though you’re not late, _mon lapin_ ,” He frowned at you. “You nearly sabotaged this operation if you weren’t smart enough to look at your comms device.”

You winced at the tone of his voice. It sent an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. “I’m sorry, sir. Won’t happen again.”

“See to it that it doesn’t, _at all._ ”

Lacroix seemed to be in some sort of room, probably still at Watchpoint Gibraltar. There was a lamp at the middle shedding enough light to see his face, but you could tell that most of his surroundings were dark.

What’s he doing there? Surely the Command Center has a lot more monitors to use. “The operation requires the utmost secrecy and stealth, and so its importance relies on its small numbers. A hacker on site,” He nodded to Del Rosario. “And two heavy-hitting assault men.” Jesse lit his cigar.

“You done questionin’ Rogers then?”

“Oh, I have.” He stepped to the side and your heart wrenched. In the middle of the room sat the ex-captain, handcuffed to the table. Her ponytail was no longer shiny but frazzled and speckled with blood, face unreadable and the floor around her were puddles of dark red mass. “And she’s been rather cooperative once I had my answers, which led to this emergency operation.”

You stole a glance along Jesse’s way. His hat conveniently hid his eyes but you knew, from the way his teeth grounded on the tobacco stick, how affected he is by all this. Lacroix ignored you both as his attention shifted towards a manila folder. “Apparently, Talon’s not done with London just yet.They are going to get Jack’s head, whether it’s still attached to his body or not. Based from the sleeper herself, there will be another attack tomorrow, the day after that, it will turn the city into a bloodbath. And the three of you won’t be able to contain it without the proper allocated resources.”

The Prime Minister would never allow Overwatch to send an overly large force, not right now with the public still reeling from the last Omnic Crisis. What you need to do is to bring the fight to them.

The rest of Lacroix’s words rang hollow in your head. You wasted no time tearing off your clothes (“A little warnin’ next time!” Jesse shouted, covering his eyes as Dave quickly looked away while Lacroix simply continued on) and putting on the uniform and your armor they provided.

Morrison will be in extreme danger and London will be another Intramuros if you don’t act tonight. That’s something you’re willing to stake your life to prevent it from happening all over again. You opened your case to reveal the pulse rifle and the masked visor. A night op at an abandoned factory somewhere at the outskirts of the city, you’ve ran hundreds of missions that have the exact same scenario. The only exception lies on the number of targets in your hit list.

“Expect at least three full squads.” Lacroix said, his hands folded underneath his chin. “That’s the minimum for a Talon attack, and Rogers confirmed it herself.”

Dave, who was typing something onto his holopad, looked up. “How much can we trust this information?”

“Ninety-percent. That, or I’d never even reveal it to you.”

You strapped in your Glock by your hip, as well as a combat knife by your boot. You have yet to question the man about his questionable interrogation skills, but Gerard was just as skilled as Morrison when it came to their words and raw charisma. Whatever he was able to extract from Rogers, no matter how brutal it could be, was something you’ll have to get used to in the long run.

Dave will go with you in this op. Short range hacking was required to keep Overwatch off the map of unwanted suspicion, and you’ve heard that the security could be intense. You’ll be dropping him off the closest waypoint for him to cut you a path to their base of operations, and you and Jesse go in, eliminate all hostile targets and destroy the base. Conrad will insure your escape, and if everything goes well, you’d be waking up in the hotel to the sound of birds chirping instead of bombs dropping.

You slung your pulse rifle on your shoulder as you watched Dave suit himself up. Besides the usual armor and the standard sidearm, you wondered if he ever had experience in the field. “...It’s my first time, actually.” He muttered when you first popped the question.

You were leaning on the cabin wall as you stared at him with interest. “Dropped out of IT the moment the war went to shit; came to live with my family in Northern Luzon. Then, when the war ended, I looked for a job in Overwatch. They said no degrees required; shoulda known it would be for a black ops division.”

“Why did you still join? You could’ve gotten a safer job.” You loftily asked when you saw his lips curve in a knowing smirk. “Desperation? Who even in our country looks twice to dropouts for work?”

“I’m a drop out too, Literature.”

“Wow, really? What school?” You told him the name of your university and his nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Ew, entitled rich kid. You go on rallies and that shit, yeah?” He sneered as you chuckled darkly. Oh, those were the days. How your professors would often kick you out of the classroom just to attend street rallies to earn extra credit and the like.

You now understand why people thought the student rallies were annoying. “Hey, we’re more or less the same age.” You stood up somewhat straighter as you offered him your hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll watch your back provided that you watch ours.”

He looked at your hand first before tentatively grasping it in a firm grip. “Likewise.”

You heard a loud thump from overhead. You inclined your gaze, wondering what on earth Jesse and Conrad were doing to make that much noise. It won’t be some time until you reached your destination after all. You were about to relax on a chair when you heard it again, and it suddenly followed up with the cowboy’s yelling.

You immediately stood up, Glock in hand as you steadily made way outside. Your operator followed you, albeit hesitant, but he too took out his sidearm and was shaking as he walked. “Stay behind me.” You whispered to him. The two of you headed up the bridge to see them surrounding a pile of barrels in the corner. “Captain, Jesse, what’s wrong?” You asked before your eyes fell and met panicked gray ones.

“Winters?!” The combat medic was stuck in one of the most awkward positions you’ve ever seen. Her face planted on the floor and her butt unceremoniously up, you can see that her hands and legs were tangled up with fishing nets and tackles. “...What the fuck?” You heard yourself say as she tried to wiggle free.

“Found her hidin’ behind a barrel.” Jesse simply said as he crouched down to help her get rid of the net binding her wrists. Del Rosario lowered his weapon to holster it, but you still had yours raised. Your gut had this uncomfortable, sickening feeling.

_No, it can’t be._

“...What are you doing here, Winters?” You quietly asked her. She was still being helped by the cowboy, but everyone paused at the sudden tone in your voice. Jesse looked at you, and then at the gun, and his eyes widened. “Quiet, darlin’, I don’t think--” He started but the glare you sent his way shut him up immediately.

“I thought I asked you a question.”

“I...overheard Jesse talking to your operator.” She answered softly. “You three were going to go on your own, aren’t you?” You didn’t reply as you dropped your gun to the side. Knowing the blonde and her kind nature akin to Angela’s, she probably thought it wouldn’t be safe with just the three of you.

Are all combat medics who are blonde and caucasian supposed to be this nice and naive?

“You’re going to listen to my every order, is that fucking clear, Winters?” Your harsh words were not enough to deter the fierce determination in the blonde’s gray orbs as she nodded. Jesse took this moment to finally untangle the nets around her limbs and helped her onto her feet. While he fussed on her decision, you whipped out your comm in annoyance. “I’m informing Lacroix at least.”

 

“So she knows.” You can hear him humming on the other end of the line as you sighed.

“Yeah, I wanted to send her back but we’re too far away from the nearest dock, and--”

“Kill her then.” Your blood froze over his words as you stopped short. Followed up with a low chuckle coming from the other person on the line. “Oh, loosen up, _mon lapin._ You’ll get wrinkles if you keep frowning yourself like that.”

That’s seriously not a joking tone. The more you talk with Lacroix, the more you realize how frightening he could be.

“Sometimes,” You seethed through gritted teeth. “I don’t know why I even bother befriending you.”

He gave you the green light, as he was obviously intrigued by the turn of events. You gathered your team on the cabin floor again, a map of the warehouse on a holo screen provided by Dave and your equipment fixed and ready to go.

“Alright, new plan. We move in as a squad until we get our operator to the waypoint. Once he’s secured the link, we close in on our enemy as quickly as possible within the time limit provided. After that, we pick up Dave and make it all the way back to Conrad and get the hell out of here. You follow?” You inquired just as the others nodded in collective affirmation.

“You know your CQC, Winters?” You eyed the blonde, in which she hesitantly nodded.

“Oz trained me, but it’s been a while.”

“Better remember it then,” You growled. “We’re going to need it.”

You were nearing your destination. Conrad drove the boat closer to the edge of the docks. There was a watch point tower shedding a beam of light not too far from you. You stood in front of your makeshift squad; Jesse and his six-shooter to your right, Dave and his laptop at his left, and Winters and her blaster right behind him.

Your pulse rifle lay heavy in your arms, as you snapped on your masked visor. “Alright,” You muttered just as Conrad finally lowered the gangplank. “Operation Blackout is a go. Move out!”

* * *

Jack closed the door of his hotel suite and loosened his tie. Today had been hectic. With the squad captain’s betrayal, followed up with some suspicious inquiries from the board of directors as well as majority of his security detail going missing, he’s had a long day dealing and cleaning up the mess. So far, nobody has directed their questions to him yet, so he’s led to believe that things were being smoothed over without his knowledge.

He just finished a meeting with some UN delegates, supposedly the last one before they’re allowed to fly back home tomorrow afternoon. The meeting went off without a hitch, but it did take up so much time. It was already midnight when he returned to his suite.

He shrugged off his coat and armor. Contrary to London’s autumn air, it was warm and almost humid. ‘Climate change, maybe?’ He thought as his coat pooled on the floor with the rest of his arm guards and chest plate. He didn’t bother hanging it up as he doesn’t have anything planned for tomorrow, so he might as well sleep in before the dropship came to take them back. Rather, what’s left of them.

He plopped on the plush sofa seat while reaching for the bottle of scotch on the coffee table. He thought about you and wondered about your so-called super secret mission nobody is telling him about. He already expected Reyes and you to be pieces of shits as you use the protocol to hide your lies, but Gerard? His appearance into this confirmed his suspicions that Talon was indeed included in the mix. The man was notorious for hunting them down like a bloodhound.

‘Or a poodle.’ He smirked at his lame joke.

There was a muffled thump, coming from the direction of the women’s room. Jack figured it was just the medic probably making some noise there with the rest of Echo. He swirled his glass of scotch before downing it in one go. He then realized it was a mistake because _damn_ this heat is not good. He was already dressed down in just a tight-fitting shirt and pants and it still feels like a furnace around here.

Jack placed his drink back on the coffee table before getting up to open his balcony doors. Maybe the midnight air would cool him off. He gently pulled on the handle when he paused, his blue eyes widening in suspicion at the sight of a small trail of bloody footprints on the balcony.

His hand made way to his sidearm, ready to attack whoever’s outside his balcony right now, when he noticed a small figure trying to sit up by the wall. Their face was obscured by a masked visor. That familiar Blackwatch uniform, however, caught his attention, noticing the multiple bullet wounds that managed to pierce through the armor and clothing, the cuts and bruises on their arms and on their legs.

That small height and the battered looking pulse rifle on their knees made him lower his guard a bit, “That you, Quiet?” He called out steadily, still holding onto his Glock.

You looked up from your sitting position, your face twisting in a mix of surprise and confusion as you took in the form of Morrison staring at you agape from the other side of the glass doors. You then looked at the room before him, and then at the balcony next to you.

Ah, well, shit. “Huh, I forgot your room was just right next to ours.” You said before wincing in pain. You clutched onto your chest as Morrison unlocked his balcony doors and knelt beside you. His electric blue eyes made a swift once-over your body before gingerly picking you up from the floor.

Your face flamed up the second he touched you, “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Shut up. I’m moving you inside so I can treat your wounds.”

As soon as he laid you on the bed, he immediately crossed the room to pick up the first-aid kit Angela gave him. He was already by your side before you could even start protesting, “Morrison, I’m fine--”

“I said shut up. Can’t you just follow my orders for once in your life?” He responded rather hotly as he ripped your chestplate off before surveying the damage. Two bullet wounds, one on the shoulder and another by your abdomen. He was quite surprised at the lack of damage. Where was all this blood coming from? “Stop squirming, agent.”

You sighed as you finally relented; letting your head drop down on the soft bedding while the blond loomed over your figure. He took your silence as your most accommodating one yet as he quickly got to work. Your hand pried off your mask and settled it beside your ear.

You watched Morrison’s gaze land on the visor, “What’s with the mask?” He huffed as your shrugged your shoulders in a meek reply. The entire front was covered in soot as thin lines scratched the surface. There was a hole on the left part of the eyepiece, though it doesn’t seem to be a bullet hole. Just what hell have you been doing?

The two of you didn’t talk at all even until he finished patching and cleaning you up. So far, the only things he found that were life threatening were the gunshot wounds on your shoulder and stomach. Other than that, and besides some bruises and cuts on the exposed skin, you seem perfectly fine. Perhaps internal bleeding?

Anger crossed his features as he glared at you, “What the hell happened?” He didn’t move from his place as you shifted your eyes away from him.

There was something so very unsettling in those blue eyes of his. “I can’t tell you that, Morrison.” You mouthed off before a loud slam sounded across the room. You blinked, just as dark eyes fell on the blond’s fist on the bedside table.

Oh, boy. This may be the first time you’ve seen him lose his cool on you. Usually he’d snap back with a snarky comment, but not this time apparently. It’s been a while since your last, vicious back to back. That time at the cafe seemed like an old memory now. “Goddamnit, Quiet. Are you really going to disobey my direct orders?” He roared one octave higher and you winced as his voice rang horribly in your ears.

“I’m not disobeying orders! In fact, _you’re the one_ who’s going off on your own..!”

“I’m the Strike Commander, I can do whatever I damn well please--”

“See, that’s what I hate about you Morrison,” You seethed through clenched teeth. You’re already trying so hard not to worsen your punishment _but jesus christ._ “You’re always making things so goddamn difficult for me, always pissing me off--”

“Because you won’t listen--”

“--to make matters worse it’s like you wanted me to get out of line!”

“ _That’s not true!_ ”

“Oh, really now.” You arched an eyebrow as you propped yourself up using your elbows, ignoring the pain shooting through your shoulders. You glared at him with as much ferocity as you could muster, for all those months of enduring his harsh words and actions, for all those times he made your life a living hell. You wanted so badly to curse at him, to launch into this terrible, pitiful tirade; Gabriel and everyone else in the chain of command be damned.

You tried sitting up but a bolt of pain struck your shoulder and you yelped in response. Immediately, Morrison’s large hands forced you to lie back down. Anger was soon replaced with worry as he rechecked your bandages in case you started bleeding again.

Seeing the change in his expression brought down this weird feeling in your chest. It’s making you think a lot more rationally, and before you knew it, you were recalling your memories from your recent operation, the words tumbling rather awkwardly from your mouth.

* * *

 

Your ears were ringing. It was uncomfortable, but _god_ did it give you an extra boost of strength through the adrenaline. “Hostiles coming in hot at your six, Quiet!” Dave forewarned and you nodded with a slight, maniacal snarl on your face.

“Copy that, Operator.”

You stepped out of your hiding spot, training your rifle on the newcomers with three quick bursts. Bodies collided on the floor as you stepped over the fallen soldiers, pocketing all of their communication devices. Behind you, in the same room you were hiding in, Winters knelt beside an injured McCree. “How’s he holding up?” You tentatively asked the medic, who only bit her lip.

So far, you’ve managed to take out the enemy as _quietly_ as your call sign can muster. You’ve taken down one full squad of six, but as you moved on to the next one, the enemy decided to get the jump on your combat medic. You were caught completely unaware and Jesse, _this idiot_ , immediately jumped right in front of her, shielding her with his body, which left you to deal with the shooters a little too late.

He saved Winters’s life, but now you have to deal with this. “Shattered bone.” She whispered while you can hear the cowboy moaning from the pain. “He needs immediate medical care for that, and surgery for the gunshot wounds.” Your dark eyes briefly spotted the makeshift yet professionally made tourniquet on his forearm, and you clucked your tongue in irritation. “You have the supplies to start one right now?” You half-demanded while you kept one trained eye on the hallway for enemies.

“I have the basic equipment but no anesthesia.” Shit.

You walked back to the pair and lowered your gun, not enough to get your guard down, but to keep Jesse lying flat on the ground. “We have no choice then.” You said, putting up a serious face.

Suturing wounds is going to be a bitch. Without anesthesia? You felt so sorry for the kid.

You picked up his hat and laid it gently to cover his eyes; you don’t want him to go into shock just by looking at the amount of damage he sustained. “...W-what...what’re you guys doin, Quiet..?” His voice, though usually flirty and sarcastic, sounded afraid as you held down his right arm with your knees and both your hands on his shoulders.

Before you, Winters had finished prepping up her tools. She looked at you with a nod.

“Darlin’?” You ignored Jesse as you braced for the worst. “What’s goin’ ooAAAAARGHHH!” You dug your forearm into Jesse’s screaming mouth; his screams becoming muffled but not before you feel teeth clenching tight on to the thick fabric of your clothes. You can feel your own grinding against molars in an effort not to scream yourself.

Meanwhile the blonde got to work. There are at least three bullets lodged deep in his abdomen, as the first six at point blank range managed to shatter his armor for those three to come through. “The bullets aren’t enough to kill him, but the blood loss and the pain from his left arm will surely send him into shock if not treated further.” She muttered as her hands swiftly worked around her tools to get the pieces of metal out. Below you, Jesse convulsed as he tried his best to keep his voice low; Dave mentioned of a patrolling squad and who knows whether the base has already been alerted of intruders.

“Hostiles incoming, Quiet.” Operator said urgently. “It’s a full squad of six, you have to move McCree and find a new place to hide--”

“Winters, I’m leaving Jesse to you.” You suddenly said. The medic paused for a second to look at you incredulously. “Don’t tell me you’re going out there on your own?!” She hissed but you were already snapping on your mask with your rifle back in your hands. Even in his delirious state, Jesse weakly propped himself up to his elbows.

“Come back here, Quiet.” His voice was weak but you heard him well enough. “Yer gonna die out there..!” He nearly hollered while you turned back to wave a dismissive hand. “I’ll be fine. I’ll bait them away from you guys while she treats you. Winters, I’m counting on you to protect Jesse.” You didn’t wait for their responses as you stepped out of the room, locking the door from both sides.

“Operator,” You commanded, turning on your tactical visor. “You’re my eyes.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, before his English accent spoke up in a grave tone. “...Copy that, Quiet.”

You wheezed as you started coughing in the middle of your report. Morrison was quick to thrust a cup of water in your direction, in which you begrudgingly took it with your thanks. He looked at you with an unknown emotion in his blue eyes. “How many did you kill, agent?” His tone was soft but you shifted away from his gaze.

“...Around thirty people. Maybe more.” You looked down to your body to avoid the steel glare of Morrison’s face. “I’ve lost count after they busted my armor and my form got sloppy.”

Lacroix’s intel was wrong, or maybe you were misdirected by Rogers herself as she anticipated it. There were seven full squads of angry mercenaries, all of which you made sure to slaughter with everything you’ve got. You made due with just your pulse rifle, as the enemy seemed to use the same weapon model as yours while you collected ammunition from their corpses, but most of the fights weren’t full-on guns and roses.

You closed your eyes as you tried to forget one particular bad fight. It’s one of the reasons why your rifle remained useless as a shooting weapon, and became more of a bludgeoning one. “Two soldiers, one grabbed me by my arms while the other one was in front, ready to shoot my head.” You said in monotone, not noticing the blonde gripping onto the sheets of the bed.

“And?” He urged you to continue as you smiled blankly. You tapped your now bandaged shoulder with a sigh, “Moved enough for the bullet to tear straight to the soldier behind me. Once he’s down I headbutted the other one. Visor broke upon contact.” You then gestured to your now broken mask.

You hated that fight. You hated having to resort to anything that’s not standard issued training, nothing but the primal need to survive. You stopped trying to find ammo for your rifle; you instead used it as one heavy and unnecessary blunt weapon to bludgeon your enemies to their deaths. Torbjörn must’ve figured out your fighting style from that skirmish with Metz in Lisbon; that’s the only reasonable explanation you could think for your new pulse rifle to survive this long without breaking apart.

When you didn’t say anything else, Morrison cleared his throat to get your attention back. “What happened to the rest of your squad,and how did you escape the base?”

Without informing your makeshift team, you had Conrad act as your backup in case things got too hairy. He was able to get the three out of that warehouse and back to London shores, where Jesse was immediately transported via dropship to get the proper treatment from Angela at the Swiss base. You don’t know what happened to Dave and Winters, but you figured they went along with him if they weren’t here already.

You took one long sip of your water before settling it on the table beside you. “Conrad was pretty smart. He left me a speedboat to use, although,” You cringed at the memory. “I had no idea how to drive the damn thing. Took me awhile to get it to work.”

Jack was silent as he tried to imagine you fumbling with the controls of the speedboat, and he thought that was strangely hilarious. He immediately shook his head as if he’s shaking his thoughts away.

“Hey, Morrison?” Once again, your dark eyes met his strange blue ones.

“Yeah?”

“Why do we hate each other again?” You said with a deadpan face. The blond’s eyebrows ticked in irritation.

“I don’t know, agent. You tell me.” He was almost daring you to snark a comeback, but your face didn’t change, except for your brows furrowing.

“No, Morrison. I honestly don’t know why you don’t like me. What did I do to piss you off so much?” Jack studied your face; he couldn’t believe your words right now.

With a sigh, the blond raked a hand through his hair before rubbing his face. “Remember Blackwatch Delta?” He looked at you to make sure you were listening properly, and you nodded at him to continue.

“After your training with Gabe, I was the one who suggested moving you to their unit.” Your look of surprise went by unnoticed by the Strike Commander. “Honestly, I wasn’t expecting you to last in Blackwatch at all. I didn’t mean you’d die of course!” He added quickly when you shot him a glare.

“Gee, Morrison. Thanks.”

“Anytime, Quiet.” He snapped back as you rolled your eyes and waved at him to continue explaining. You’re bedridden with your wounds from a recent battle, you have all the time in the world to listen at him go off.

“I heard about your solo missions while on Delta.” He crossed his arms as he frowned at you. “Even after all that training and having been basically given a second chance in life, you still chose to throw it away.”

“You weren’t trying to kill yourself, right?” At this your eyes widened.

“No of course not!” You snapped, trying to keep your voice as normal as possible.

“Then why, Quiet? Why the solo missions, why do you insist on doing these things alone?” He reminded you of tonight’s op.

You wanted to prove yourself. That’s all you ever wanted to do. It wasn’t even revenge that’s fueling you to fight right now; not for Balao and Captain Santos, not for Jesse, Winters and Dave, not even for Gabriel and Lacroix. You surround yourself with books and your studies, and when it didn’t work out you used the Omnic Crisis as a cover for you to join the army. You absolutely could not survive the military, but you were so desperate to prove yourself that you can do something that not only did you destroy your comfortable life, you will forever be scarred by what has happened. Your best friend is dead, the captain you once saw as a father figure is dead, you can never return to your country and because of that your family thinks you’re dead as well.

Everything is your fault, all because of your simple obsession to prove yourself. Maybe, if you weren’t so goddamn stubborn, Winters wouldn’t have to be in your ops tonight and Jesse wouldn’t get hurt.

Morrison’s expression didn’t change even after you haphazardly tried to explain yourself. Your voice cracked, not because of exhaustion but from the wellspring of emotions threatening to bubble over. He brought up a hand to calm you down. “You don’t have to do all these things alone, Quiet.” He muttered as you looked away.

“As far as I know, sir,” You spoke softly, gripping on to the sheets. “It’s all part of the job.”

“And it’s my job to protect my agents, even if they’re Blackwatch brats.”

You inclined your head to meet Morrison’s gaze, and seeing only sympathy in his blue eyes you felt your own prickling up at the new sensation. You allowed yourself a tiny nod.

You were shaking; you’ve calmed down, but it’s still so cold. He saw this and moved closer, taking the blanket to tuck you into the bed. “You’re cold? It’s so warm out.” He said as you chuckled faintly.

“You wouldn’t survive in the Philippines then, commander.” You didn’t see his eyes widening at the mention of his rank. “Tropical country and all; it’s always so hot there. The slightest bit of cold and I’m freezing.”

“You called me commander.” He blurted out, still not believing it. He watched you lay down and drew the covers close to you. “You never did before, thought you didn’t acknowledge me as one at all.”

You nodded at him, sleepily. “Thought I should now, as a mark of trust.”

* * *

That was the last day of the mission, and a successful one at that. Jack informed you that McCree and co. made it back to Switzerland safely, which made you sigh in relief. The next morning, at least seven hours later after your midnight conversations with the Strike Commander, Angela called you up at your comm.

You were already wide awake, and so was the blond who woke up earlier to change your bandages when your comm device started ringing. “Oh no.” You froze at the sound, while Morrison only tilted his head with curiosity.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” He asked you, when you slowly, purposefully, took it out from your pocket and pressed it to your ear. You cleared your throat before speaking, “H-hey, Angie--”

 _“You better have a damn good explanation for this!”_ She damn near screamed as you brought it away from your ear, wincing at how it rung.

“Angie--”

 _“Imagine my surprise when it’s only just McCree and two recruits come barging in my emergency room when I specifically expected your unconscious butt to be wheeled here!”_ Morrison looked away, just in time to hide his sarcastic chuckle while you sweatdropped.

“I’m fine, Angela.” You started as you pointedly glared at him in return. “Morrison patched me up as best as he can and--”

“ _Oh did he now?_ ” She replied icily. _“I shall be the judge of that. I expect you to be wheeled directly into medbay the moment you land back, is that understood, Agent Quiet?”_ Wow. There’s only so few moments when Angela pulls rank on you (after all, her being Head of Medical is kind of a big deal) and it still feels weird hearing it from her.

You easily gave the doc your agreement. Besides, with how well the mission went, you wanted a break from the battle field, at least for a day to get your shoulder working. As you listened to your friend ramble on about your recklessness and how worried she was, your eyes met Morrison’s; the both of you breaking into knowing smirks as you look forward to seeing Gabe’s face on how his plan actually worked. You two actually made up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hate this one. I'd prolly go back to edit it, but honestly I just wanted to switch over to fluffy Jack and Reader moments. Next few chapters would just focus on those two, until I get some motivation to do more mission related chapters.


	8. A Quiet Day Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all could use one. Though for some reason people have been looking out for you far more than usual, huh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a short chapter, filler fluff because I love the characters in Overwatch and character studies alongside you/Reader is just my kind of thing. It sort of became a mother's day chapter too. I don't know, I like my mom.

****You quietly placed down your whole stack onto the table, making sure the cowboy could see your four-of-a-kind. “I win.” You nonchalantly said as he swore and threw down his own hand in mild frustration. “I really don’t understand how I’m always losin’!”

You then collected your winnings--an unopened can of rationed beer and McCree’s hat--and huffed in reply, “Honestly, _tong-its_ is basically a watered down version of poker and you’re still so bad at this.” Your statement drew a snarl from him as he lamely watched you put on his hat, a victorious smirk on your face.

Today’s a Monday, a month since that day in London, and while it’s usually the start of the work week for many of your Blues and Reds, you and Jesse are spending it on base as part of his strictly enforced medical leave. His arm’s looking a little better than before though it is still in a cast, it’ll be taken off in another week or two. You spent most of your downtime just hanging out with Jesse, who was slowly going insane from not going out in the field, as well as the amount of office work Gabe’s making him do.

The brim of his signature cowboy hat slipped past your eyes as you did your best to imitate him, “Oh, look at me and my six-shooter, IT’S HIGH NOON!” You shouted rather cheerfully, loud enough for some people in the rec room to turn their heads at you, knowing and casual smirks sent your way as McCree palmed his face.

“Not fuckin’ funny, darlin’.”

While the wounds you sustained during Operation Blackout weren’t as severe as Jesse’s shattered bone, Angela basically forced you to stay in the medical bay for a week just to recuperate. You protested that you needed to get back to work, only to back down the second she threatened to cuff you to the bed--in which you find it to be rather kinky.

And so, you stayed in med bay with Jesse on the next bed over, reading your books and playing cards with him to pass the time. You were getting tired losing to him in poker so you taught him some card games from your country. So far, he’s lost to every single one of them and you were able to save your clothing this time.

Of course, for the duration of your stay in the ward you were visited by your friends and acquaintances. Commander Reyes visited you constantly, often with food, claiming he was there to keep an eye on your recent exploits but you and Jesse knew he’s just worried. Then there’s Genji, the opposite of Reyes, who claims he’s here to visit you two when in reality he’s sneaking off training just to see Angela. Dave stopped by every now and then with snacks and tea until the blonde doctor had to kick him out when you got a stomach ache.

Squad Echo also visited you. Days after the mission, Oz was declared the new captain and they took their informal celebration to your bed. You were given a lot of basic book recommendations from Winters and Picasso as well as some get well cards, which you bashfully accepted with your thanks. You were also delivered some flowers, a large and awfully expensive bouquet of French Marigolds, from Lacroix and his fiance.

Funnily enough, it was only after you got discharged that a certain blond decided to show his face.

You flicked open your beer and handed it to Jesse, “Don’t tell Angela.” You only smirked when he rolled his eyes at you, but accepted the can anyways. The both of you knew the blonde would kick your asses for drinking while recuperating, but you figured the kid needed it more. You were packing away the deck as he watched you, slightly scrutinizing you with his gaze. “So,” He started off casually. “Anythin goin on with you and Morrison?” He raised an eyebrow at your shrug, in which you hesitantly paused.

All week of your stay in medical bay, not once did he visit you until your very last night. The cowboy was fast asleep on the bed next to yours while you leaned back with propped pillows, the Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck spread on your knees with a table lamp shining a dim light, when the door to your ward slid open and a tired Jack Morrison stepped in, still in his uniform. You raised both eyebrows in surprise; you half-expected him to not visit you at all. “What are you doing here?” You blurted out, watching him pull out a chair beside your bed.

“Came to see you,” He replied loftily. “Would’ve gone earlier if not for my cruel work hours.”

In his hands was a brown paper bag, in which he settled it on your bed next to your knee. “I thought you and McCree would get bored cooped up in here, so I got you these.” He gestured to the package where you tentatively looked inside. The smell of stale bread and pepperjack cheese reached your nose as you turned to raise a brow at him again. “A baloney sandwich, in the middle of the night.” You then wrinkled your nose as you smiled at him. “How typically ordinary of you, commander.”

He chuckled lightly under his breath as he leaned back on his seat, watching you put aside your book and grab a bite of the sandwich. It seemed as if he was waiting for your reaction, or a comment on the sandwich. “It’s not bad.” You said. It’s not bad, but it’s also not good. Ingredients were definitely not fresh, and it smelled funny. Probably something he bought from the commissary, maybe? The gesture was kind enough.

“You know, you shouldn’t be reading with that kind of light.” He frowned at the state of your lamp. “It’s gonna hurt your eyes.”

“Don’t worry about it. I eat my vegetables like a good girl and that sometimes helps.” You hummed in reply as you finished your food. You contemplated taking Jesse’s sandwich but you learned better not to steal food from your fellow Reds. Genji was a prime example of that. Even without a good sense of taste he practically _hisses_ at people who take his cup noodles from the Blackwatch pantry without his permission.

You and Morrison talked throughout the night, taking care not to wake up the sleeping cowboy beside you as you tried to make sense with the blond’s visit. Since London, you’ve only ever seen, much or less talk, to him a couple of times. At least you aren’t fighting anymore, you’re relieved about that. You’re just not used to this so-called peace you’ve acquired and it’s eating away at you in an uncomfortable pace. It was a foreign feeling, not harboring hateful thoughts towards the man while you talked about his day. He seemed exhausted, thin lines drawing up the ends of his eyes and his forehead, while his shoulders hunched and his voice a little drawn out than usual. You wondered why he’s still here when he should just get to bed already.

“Yeah, I should, huh.” He replied when you brought it up. He rubbed his face to stave off the exhaustion. “Maybe I will, after this.”

“So it’s not an excuse to see me after all?” You both chuckled quietly, though you failed to see the mirth in his eyes.

That was the last time you’ve explicitly seen nor heard of Morrison. Soon after you got discharged, you’ve been swept away on a mission courtesy of Gabriel. It took you a full week of reconnaissance in some foreign land when you got back to base, only to be shipped off to Japan with Genji and another Red for _another_ recon mission. You figured this is Gabe’s way of lightening up your workload, but by the time you’ve finally had your first break out of four goddamn recon missions, a month has already passed and in a few weeks, it’ll be Christmas.

You begged Gabriel to just give you a break and when he relented, you finally slept without your alarm clock ringing nonstop. You then decided to spend the day just hanging out with Jesse, cheering him up from the lack of field duty on his side. “I haven’t seen Morrison in a while. He’s probably busy.” You replied half-heartedly to his question, accepting the can of beer from him.

“You know I don’t mean that.” Jesse smirked at you. “You two cozyin’ up to each other now, I see.”

“The only ‘cozying up’ I’m seeing is you and Winters, cowboy.” You grinned at the small tinge of pink tinting the kid’s face as he scoffed to the side, seemingly annoyed you didn’t take the bait.

Jesse challenged you to another game of _tong-its_ and for that you happily relented. You settled in your beret as your bet and he and his ridiculous BAMF belt. It’s not something you wanted, but seeing as you can’t really gamble with real money while on base, you don’t have much to say in that matter. Of course, you’re not letting him win this easily as your lovable beret is at stake here.

Your tongue between your teeth, you arranged for another four-of-a-kind when he spoke up again. “So, what are you goin’ to do this Christmas?”

Undeterred, you placed your stack on the tabletop and Jesse audibly cursed. “Same as usual. I’m filling up all the other empty Reds’ places while the rest enjoy the holidays.”

He looked up from his hand, suddenly looking confused. “Wait, so you’re staying on base?”

A straight flush. “Well, yeah. I don’t have a home to go to, Jesse.”

He was silent for a while, forgetting the game for a bit as he let the words process through his head. “Aren’t you at least going to spend it with someone else?” He said as you mulled over the thought.

Last year, Angela did invite you to spend Christmas with her and the Lindholms in Sweden. Back then, however, you weren’t acquainted with master Torbjorn and you certainly weren’t up to schmooze and mingle with the dwarf’s ten or eleven children. Of course, you were still grieving your fallen comrades in your own way; it bummed you so much since Balao’s birthday was so close to the holidays and you weren’t feeling the holiday cheer.

Now that you think about it, you spent the break just walking around the near empty headquarters, training and doing chores for random people out of boredom. The break wasn’t even that long (three days, including Christmas day) and the normally busy hallways were quiet, and felt just nice without the usual racket. Of course, back then, you and Morrison were still butting heads at each other so you welcomed the nice change of pace.

You felt your eyes glaze over your cards. You didn’t notice McCree try to sneak out a card from his stack as you thought about the holiday. Another Christmas without your family. In the past, your stupid, reckless self wouldn’t even think much of spending it without your own flesh and blood, but now?

You felt sick at the thought of them thinking you’ve disappeared, and another year of silence, with no word of your current status, you reckon they’d be worried about you. You have no way of knowing on what is happening to them--you’re scared of your own government finding out you’re still alive--and wanted nothing more but to see them happy and safe.

Seeing as you didn’t destroy him with another four-of-a-kind or even a straight, he casually dropped all of his cards on the table top, and when that didn’t draw a reaction out of you, he leaned over and snapped his fingers in front of you face. “Hey, darlin, you there? You still with me?”

Your dark eyes shifted to the side, blinking rapidly to stop the influx of emotions that threatened to spill. “Yeah, I’m still here. Take that mismatched pair off the stack, Jesse.”

* * *

By the late afternoon, the cowboy grew tired of you winning all your card games and shooed you away, claiming to want some peace and quiet without you pulling out a miracle stack or something along those lines. You bid him a quick goodbye as you wandered over the hallways of the main compound. Even if you’re still on a legitimate day off, you can’t help but feel restless, wanting to do some work or maybe even the menial chores.

You were dressed in a standard Blackwatch hoodie and matching leggings. After that clothing swap thanks to your commander and your best friend, you buried those colorful, _lacy_ , clothes deep in your cabinet, hopefully to never to see the light of day again. You couldn’t bring yourself to throw them away, but you also wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a goddamn _miniskirt_ right now even with a knife to your face. Maybe you would, should the time come, but it’s also _freezing_ at headquarters. Winter is here, and while there is no snow yet, frost covered the windows during the early hours of the morning as well as the late hours of the night. You wondered if you should just swallow your pride and wear one of the sweaters Gabe got for you from the London op.

You don’t know how, or why, but your feet led you outside, to the outdoor training fields. All around you, soldiers and agents were running around, with a matching squad leader at their backs shouting obscenities under their breaths. You gotta admit the scenes were familiar to you during your time in the army, since Blackwatch doesn’t really do squad trainings that often.

You sat on a stone bench overlooking the field, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of your hoodie to stave off the cold. As you watched the Blues do their routine, you spotted squad Echo among their ranks. They too have been jogging around the oval; you sighted a familiar buff Russian dude behind them, riling them to move faster. You chuckled, seeing Freed and Langley trying to complain, Picasso impassively taking this all in, and Winters doing her best to keep up.

You wondered how they’re doing. They took in the news of Rogers’ betrayal well enough, but you mused if they were able to adjust at all without her leadership. Oz seemed more than capable to take on her duties; he’d always been observant and calm. There’s also the issue of them acquiring a new sniper, as all squads must have six members including the squad captain. You wondered if they’ll be able to find one that’s even better than Rogers.

As you sat there absentmindedly watching their drills, the seat next to you was suddenly occupied; a flash of blue caught your attention as you turned to look at one, high-ranking officer. “Good day, Quiet.” Captain Amari gave you a quick salute as you slowly did the same, bewildered.

“I don’t usually see you around these parts. Gabe finally let you go?” She had an amused expression on her face as you nodded and rubbed the back of your head.

“I’m used to him working me to the bone, but flying in and out of base for the consecutive weeks has taken its toll.” You massaged your shoulder, faintly feeling the dull ache in the socket.

Captain Amari merely hummed in reply as she turned to look at the other soldiers before you. The silence between you was rather uncomfortable; the only time you ever talked to her was in the cafeteria and that was over a month ago. Nonetheless, the woman seemed to take a liking to you, probably because of the rumors surrounding your recklessness. You try not to go back to your old ways ever since your newfound ‘friendship’ with Morrison, but sometimes it can be difficult trying to balance it all whilst staying alive.

You’re trying to change, for both of your sakes. Maybe you should try _not_ being so aloof and cold to people for a change?

You cleared your throat. Goddamnit, the sound is all weird, you sound so awkward now. “Nice weather today, huh?” You said meekly before wanting to smack yourself. Really, you’re going to be talking about the weather to one high-ranking Blue, who’s probably gonna write your ass for insubordination, even though she can’t possibly do that, but still?!

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole if not for Captain Amari chuckling slightly at your statement, “You don’t have to act so tense around me, Quiet.” She said in a soothing voice. “I’m not here to grill you for any more plausible rumors. I really am surprised to see you out here; Blackwatch supposedly doesn’t use the outdoor training grounds, don’t they?” Her question threw you off as you mulled over it.

“Commander doesn’t really like it when Blues watch us train.” You sighed audibly. “Says that he got a complaint once that we’re demoralizing the squads.” And that’s because of how grueling training is under Reyes. If he tells you to run, you’re expected to run for your life. If he tells you to punch, you’re expected to one-hit-KO your opponents. You’re actually quite thankful you’re not using the place as it would’ve sucked to train under the hot sun.

As you spoke, Amari had taken out a small, metallic jug from her pack. She unscrewed the top and was pouring out a golden substance with a fragrant smell into the cup, “Would you care for some ginger tea?” She asked rather pleasantly, and you’re quite taken aback.

For some reason, she sounded exactly like your mother. The thought brought a sickening feeling to your stomach; it’s been years since you felt actual homesickness. “Yes, thank you.”

* * *

When the sun started setting down you bid Captain Amari goodbye. You would’ve accepted her invitation to dinner if not for your queasiness and need to get rid of this constricting feeling in your gut. But then again, it may probably be the ginger tea. It tasted funny, and it’s the first tea flavor you disliked out of the wide range of it.

You contemplated grabbing something to eat at the cafeteria, but seeing as you just rejected the captain’s proposal you don’t want to be anywhere near the place for now. Besides, there’s a vending machine on the Blackwatch main hallway you can use; their protein bars aren’t the best but goddamn they’re amazingly cheap for their size.

As you pressed the buttons on the machine, your communications device sounded a soft _ping_ , indicating a message. You pulled it out of your pocket and looked into the screen, the wrapper of the protein bar between your teeth, “A message from Gabe?” You immediately frowned. Whatever it is, you hoped he’s not pulling you out of your day off now, even though, as your commander, he has the power to do so.

The text had you sighing in defeat, _“Where are you?”_

You debated lying to him, telling him you’re off base and that you’re on a date, but both you and Gabriel knew that’s a lie without you even trying. “Blackwatch main hallway, sir. Something the matter?” You texted back, hoping to sound sincere.

Not even a second had passed when he replied back, your irritation quickly becoming replaced with curiosity, _“I’m at the pantry, get over here right now.”_

Wondering what’s he doing in the pantry, you hurried over there with both your communicator and protein bar stuffed into your pocket for the time being. Blackwatch doesn’t have its own cafeteria unlike the Blues upstairs, but it does have a small, kitchenette-like room where agents can have their coffee or heat up their instant noodles. It has the usual stove, microwave and fridge, but any appliance more than that doesn’t exist, as no one cooks in this unit. So far, the only one you knew who can legitimately cook was Reyes, but he doesn’t use the pantry often as he has his own kitchen in his quarters.

When you opened the door to the pantry, you half-expected to see your commanding officer hunched over the stove or something, with the way he sounded annoyed in his messages, but you did a double-take. “Oh, there she is.” Jack Morrison, Strike Commander, overall face and golden boy of Overwatch, smiled at you as he stood there in your pantry, wearing a frilly pink apron and ladle in hand.

Your first instinct was to head out and act like you’ve seen nothing, if not for Gabriel’s hulking body blocking the door. “There you are.” He grumbled at you as he ushered you in and closed the door in a hurry.

Well, so much for an escape. “Er, good evening, commanders.” You hesitantly greeted them both but Gabriel doesn’t seem to be listening as he was muttering curses under his breath. “Would you help me out here? This _pendejo_ ,” He gestured to the blond, who only smiled at him with uncertainty. “Decided to use _our_ kitchen to do his own mystery food challenge and managed to trigger the fire alarm while he’s at it!” He roared as Morrison (seemed) to feign the hurt crossing his features.

“I was just trying to make you guys some paella,” He turned to you as he spoke, not noticing the steam coming out of Reyes’s ears. “You see it’s the only Spanish dish I know how to make and Gabe here _loves_ it a lot so--”

“You botched the rice for christ’s sake!”

“How bad is it?” You said, stepping forward to look at the pot Morrison’s standing by. Though medium-sized, the pot was filled to the brim with a glutinous-like consistency. “...How much water did you put in this?” You frowned as you borrowed the ladle from him and tried to get a feel of the rice.

The blond beside you tilted his head to look at the ceiling, deep in thought. “Hmm, maybe four or five cups? I actually didn't know how it affected the rice that much.” He said as Gabriel, leaning over your shoulder on your other side, huffed in frustration. “Wants to cook paella but can’t even make rice properly, _dios mio._ ”

You eyed the rice packet at the side, indicating the kind of sticky rice brand you remembered using from back home. Oh, so that's why.

“So, how can we still save this, Quiet?” Morrison had apparently ignored the other completely and looked seriously invested into saving this cooking mishap of his. You were going to comment on how he knew that little tidbit of knowledge on your cooking skills, but decided that Gabe must’ve said something about it.

“You could scoop out half, and then make rice porridge.”

“Rice porridge, huh? We don’t have oaths though.”

“Not that kind of rice porridge,” You gave the pot another stir and set the ladle aside. “In Asian cuisine they call it congee, but in my country we call it _lugaw_ and it should be good for this type of weather.” You said as you crossed your arms and tilted your head to the side, trying to remember the ingredients needed for this. You didn’t notice, but the two super soldiers looked at you with apparent interest.

“We’ll need onion, garlic, ginger--I think Genji brought home some from his mission in China--and then a bouillon cube, fish sauce, _oh_ , and chicken if you want some meat in it.” You lightly tapped your palm with your fist as you finished listing off the ingredients needed. When you didn’t hear a response, however, you looked up and found their eyes trained onto yours, mouths slightly agape and brows raised in surprise.

You quickly looked away, hiding that damn blush trying to make way to your face, “A-Anyway, if you want to save this _thing_ you better hurry.”

You instructed Morrison to cut the chicken into small parts while Reyes went off to the commissary to get the garnishes; fresh spring onions and hard boiled eggs. He said he might as well stock up on basic food supplies anyways and left with an already growing list in his hands. You took it upon yourself to sauté the rest of the ingredients on a different pot, the frilly apron the blonde was wearing earlier was now hastily tied up on your person.

Morrison glanced over to you. While you two aren’t talking, the atmosphere doesn’t seem to be intense. He does find it amusing how focused you are on fixing what he thought was a failed dish, but then again, this is _you_. You always seemed to take things seriously, especially when you happen to be very good at it.

He watched you wipe the sweat off your brow as you asked for the chicken. He was suddenly very curious; Gabe told him you’re a good cook, but he wanted to know more. “So, did anyone teach you how to cook?” He questioned with a joking tone, as if trying to lighten up the mood. He didn’t expect you to pause slightly at his words, before a small smile appeared on your face.

 _Your eyes looked so...sad._ “Yeah, my mom.” You began quietly. “It was sort of a requirement for me to learn how to cook.”

“How come?”

“Ah, well, in our household I’m the eldest sibling of twelve children. Yeah, I know.” You chuckled at Morrison’s alarmed face. “We’re a pretty big family, and back then, we couldn’t afford a maid to help with the cooking, so me and my mom would be in charge of the food.”

You remember waking up as early as 4:00 am, already throwing on a bandana to keep your hair off your face as your mother shouted to rouse you from bed. You remember making big batches of breakfast for your siblings and your father while you and your mother traipsed around the house, keeping the place in tip top shape. Afterwards, you’d wash up quickly and try to get to your own school in time; your grades were good but you’re almost always late to class, that’s why your record isn’t great.

After school, you remembered you’d try to go home as quickly as you can, to help your mother do the next set of chores for the day. Late selling of wares at a popular marketplace called the ‘Divisoria’, buying ingredients for your dinner later, and then you’d do it all over again. It was tiring, it was exhausting, it took so much time and effort, and yet, it was also one of the happiest times of your childhood.

You were staring blankly into the pot for the past minute before Morrison shook you from your thoughts by calling out your name. Clearly, he knew he struck a chord somewhere. “I’m sorry for bringing up the past.” He frowned apologetically as you shrugged in reply.

“It’s fine, Morrison,” You sighed. “Back then, when I ran away from the army, I never thought much about my family. I was a foolish, idealistic kid who cared more about my country than my very own flesh and blood. But now…”

“You should go see them then, take the time off this break.”

You almost snorted. “I would have if not for my own _beloved_ country technically banning me from entering it.” You carefully set the chicken down into the pot and let the skin whiten as Morrison’s back leaned onto the counter, his arms crossed and his face unreadable. “That was your punishment for deserting the army, huh.” He said softly as a melancholic smile grazed your features.

“Funny how the reward I got for fighting for my country was a nationwide ban as well as some dead friends.” Your hollow laugh rang horribly in your ears as you settled down your spatula and mimicked him. The sizzle of the meat cooking in the pot was comforting to say the least, but the smell was making your stomach groan. You can’t wait to taste it out.

Unbeknownst to you, Morrison studied your expression with hidden interest. Of course, you sounded sarcastic, as if you didn’t care at all about your situation, but he knew better.

He had a similar experience too.

Gabriel returned with two bags of groceries just as you placed the sticky rice into the new pot, adding a few tablespoons of water just to keep the texture. You three shifted conversations as you now waited for the porridge to cook, often ending up on the subject of the holidays. You easily brushed off your commander’s invitation to his home in Los Angeles, snarkily claiming to be home alone on base for the full three days of the break. You didn’t see the worried looks being passed over from the two, however.

Instead, the porridge has finally finished cooking and you eagerly wanted to taste it, partly because you haven’t had dinner yet. “Be careful, it’s hot.” Gabriel grunted as he passed you a bowl, in which you sprinkled in some fried bits of garlic and chopped spring onions. The blonde, seeing this, did the same as well.

“Youch, that’s hot!”

“ _ What did I say-- _ ”

The two started bickering as you tentatively took a sip. Your mouth burned but you forced yourself to swallow it down. It tasted...rather bland and familiar. You forced another piping hot spoonful, smiling slightly amidst the pain.

It tasted like home, exactly as your mother made it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Christmas is still quite a long ways away but seeing as I don't have much time (school), I wanted to get it started and over it. Plus, it actually helps my thesis as I'm doing a cultural study on the food of Filipinos.
> 
> Some translations and terminologies:  
> Tongits - The objective of this card game is to empty your hand of all cards or minimize the count and the scores of matched cards that are still on the player's hand by forming card set, dumping cards and calling a draw. The player who gets rid of all the cards or has the least number of total points at the end of the game (when the central stack is empty) wins the game.  
> Lugaw - A Filipino glutinous rice gruel or porridge. Widely regarded as comfort food in the Philippines.  
> Divisoria - A commercial center in Tondo, Manila, Philippines known for its shops that sell low-priced goods and its diverse manufacturing activities. My mom used to sell her wares here and this chapter was inspired because of it.


End file.
